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THE    LIFE 


OF 


MICHELANGELO   BUONARROTI 


IN    TWO    VOLUMES      ^ 


VOLUME  THE  FIRST 


/ 


MACMILLAN  AND  CO.,  Limited 

LONDON  .  BOMBAY  •  CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW   YORK    •    BOSTON    •    CHICAGO 
ATLANTA    •    SAN    FRANCISCO 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  Ltd. 

TORONTO 


Michelangelo  Buonarroti. 


\')U 


THE  LIFE  OF 


Mic'h'elangelo  Buonarroti 


'    A 


BASED  ON  STUDIES  IN  THE  ARCHIVES  OF  THE 
BUONARROTI  FAMILY  AT  FLORENCE 


BY 


JOHN   ADDINGTOI/  SYMONDS 


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THIRD  EDITION 
aSSit^  Portrait  anU  JTiftg  lacproijuctions  of  tfje  Smorfes  of  tfjc  iWaster 


IN    TWO    VOLU  MES 


VOLUME  THE  FIRST 


„■>    ^  ^  ■  '^^ 


LONDON 
MACMILLAN  AND  CO,,  Limited 
NEW  YORK  :   CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SON^J, 

I  9  I  I  '  : 


Transferred  to  Messrs.  MacmiUan  and  Co.,  Ltd.,  1900 
ReJ/THnted  TC)ox,  19" 


ttAmo  a  Hi  umm 


TO 
THE  CAVALIERE  GUIDO  BIAGI, 

DOCTOR    IN   LETTERS, 
PREFECT  OF  THE  MEDICEO-LAURENTIAN  LIBRARY,  ETC.,   ETC., 

I  DEDICATE 
THIS   WORK   ON    MICHELANGELO, 

IN   RESPECT   FOR   HIS  SCHOLARSHIP  AND   LEARNING, 

ADMIRATION  OF  HIS  TUSCAN  STYLE, 

AND  GRATEFUL  ACKNOWLEDGMENT  OF  HIS  GENEROUS  ASSISTANCE. 


PREFACE   TO  SECOND  EDITION. 

The  first  edition  of  this  work  having  been  exhausted 

in  a  space  of  little  over  three  months,  I  take  this 

opportunity  of  saying  that  the  critical  notices  which 

have  hitherto  appeared  do  not  render  it  necessary 

to  make  any  substantial  changes  in  the  text.      A 

few  points  of  difference  between  my  reviewers  and 

myself,  concerning  opinion  rather  than  fact,  are  now 

briefly  discussed  in  a  series  of  notes  printed  at  the 

end  of  Vol.  11. 

J.  A.  S. 

Davos  Platz,  Jan.  9,  1893. 


PREFACE. 

The  biographer  of  Michelangelo  Buonarroti,  who  is 
bold  enough  to  attempt  a  new  Life  after  the  many 
which  have  been  already  published,  must  introduce 
his  work  by  a  critical  survey  of  the  sources  he  has 
drawn  from.  These  may  be  divided  into  five  main 
categories  :  original  documents  in  manuscript  or 
edited ;  contemporary  Lives ;  observations  by  con- 
temporaries ;  Lives  written  during  the  present  cen- 
tury ;  criticisms.  I  do  not  intend  to  classify  the 
whole  mass  of  Michelangelo  literature.  This  would 
imply  a  volume  in  itself,  and  to  perform  the  task 
exhaustively  would  entail  a  vast  expenditure  of  time 
and  labour.^  It  is  possible,  however,  to  indicate  the 
leading  features  of  the  five  grand  divisions  I  have 
mentioned  in  the  order  of  their  value. 

I.  By  far  the  most  important  of  these  sources 
is  the  large  collection  of  manuscripts  preserved 
in  the  Casa  Buonarroti  at  Florence.  These  con- 
sist of  authentic  contracts,  and  of  letters,  poems, 
and    memoranda,    mostly    in    Michelangelo's    own 

1  A    fairly  sufficient  basis    for    the    undertaking    is    supplied   by 
Passerini's  Bibliografia,  &c. 


viii  PREFACE. 

autograph ;  copies  made  by  his  grand-nephew, 
Michelangelo  the  younger,  and  autograph  letters 
addressed  by  persons  of  all  qualities  to  the  great 
sculptor  during  his  lifetime.  The  papers  in  ques- 
tion were  preserved  among  other  family  archives 
until  the  middle  of  this  century,  rarely  inspected 
even  by  the  curious,  and  used  by  no  professed 
biographers.  Only  a  few  specimens  found  their 
way  by  special  privilege  into  the  collections  of 
Gaye,  Piot,  Bottari-Ticozzi,  and  others.  In  1858 
the  Commendatore  Cosimo  Buonarroti  bequeathed 
them,  together  with  the  house  and  its  art  treasures, 
to  the  city  of  Florence,  placing  them  under  the 
trusteeship  of  the  Syndic,  the  Director  of  the  Gal- 
leries, and  the  Prefect  of  the  Laurentian  Library. 
This  gentleman's  wife,  Kosina  Vendramin,  of  Venice, 
the  widow  of  Thomas  Grant,  Esq.,  had  devoted  her- 
self to  classifying  and  arranging  the  precious  docu- 
ments, so  that  the  whole  collection  passed  over  to  the 
town  in  a  fair  state  of  preservation.  By  the  Commen- 
datore's  will,  access  to  the  Buonarroti  archives,  and 
the  right  to  divulge  them,  were  strictly  refused  even 
to  the  learned ;  but  this  prohibition  has  in  certain 
cases  been  set  aside,  as  I  shall  presently  describe. 

Next  in  importance  to  the  Buonarroti  archives  is 
a  large  collection  of  Michelangelo's  letters,  pur- 
chased by  the  British  Museum  in    1859  from  the 


PREFACE.  ix 

painter  Cavaliere  Michelangelo  Buonarroti,  nephew 
of  the  Commendatore  Cosimo  above  mentioned. 
The  majority  of  these  were  first  introduced  to  the 
public  by  Hermann  Grimm.  It  remains  to  mention 
a  set  of  personal  memoranda  in  Michelangelo's 
handwriting,  with  letters  addressed  to  him  or 
written  about  him  to  his  nephew  Lionardo,  pub- 
lished in  a  semi-private  manner  by  Daelli  of  Milan 
in  1865.  Finally,  there  exist  in  private  libraries 
and  public  museums  scattered  letters,  most  of  which 
have  found  their  way  into  various  printed  works. 

On  the  occasion  of  Michelangelo's  fourth  cen- 
tenary, in  1875,  it  was  decided  to  give  as  complete 
an  edition  as  possible  of  his  own  letters  to  the  public. 
The  Commendatore  Gaetano  Milanesi,  Curator  of  the 
Florentine  State  Archives,  undertook  the  responsi- 
bility of  this  work,  and  was  allowed  to  throw  open  the 
treasures  of  the  Museo  Buonarroti.  The  result  is  a 
handsome  volume,  containing  495  documents,  drawn 
from  all  sources,  which,  however  it  may  be  criticised, 
remains  a  monument  of  respectable  scholarship  and 
industry.  It  forms  the  principal  existing  basis  for 
exact  studies  in  the  illustrious  artist's  life-history. 

Some  'years  before  the  issue  of  this  complete 
epistolary — that  is  to  say,  in  1863 — similar  license 
had  been  granted  to  Signor  Cesare  Guasti  for  the 
publication  of  Michelangelo's  poems  from  the  texts 


X  PREFACE. 

preserved  in  the  Museo  Buonarroti.  These  texts 
he  collated,  but  not  completely,  with  a  codex  in 
the  Vatican  Library.  Guasti's  volume,  although 
it  also  has  been  subjected  to  severe  criticism, 
remains  the  classical  edition,  to  which  every 
student  must  have  recourse.^  It  did  nothing  less 
than  to  revolutionise  previous  conceptions  of 
Michelangelo  as  poet  and  as  man  of  feeling.  Up 
to  the  date  1863,  his  sonnets,  madrigals,  and  longer 
lyric  compositions  were  only  known  to  the  world 
in  the  falsified  and  garbled  form  which  Michel- 
angelo the  younger  chose  to  give  them  when  he 
published  the  first  edition  of  the  "Rime"  in  1623. 
The  history  of  what  may  be  called  this  pious  fraud 
by  a  grand-nephew,  over-anxious  for  his  illustrious 
ancestor  s  literary  and  personal  reputation,  will  be 
found  in  the  twelfth  chapter  of  my  book.  Suffice 
it  here  to  say,  that  all  earlier  translations  from  the 
poems,  and  all  deductions  drawn  from  them  regarding 
their  author's  psychology,  were  deprived  of  value 
by  Guasti's  publication  of  the  originals.  Michel- 
angelo's life  had  to  be  studied  afresh  and  rewritten 
upon  new  and  truer  data. 

Milanesi,  while  preparing  his  edition  of  Michel- 
angelo's letters,  used  the  opportunities  he  enjoyed 

1  The  most  severe  attacks  upon  Milanesi  and  Guasti  have  been  made 
by  Hermann  Grimm  in  the  later  editions  of  his  Leben  Michelangeys. 


PREFACE.  xi 

in  the  Archivio  Buonarroti  to  make  a  complete 
copy  of  the  voluminous  correspondence  addressed 
by  persons  of  different  degrees  and  qualities  to  the 
illustrious  Florentine.  Part  of  this  valuable  manu- 
script he  placed  at  the  disposal  of  the  Biblioth^que 
Internationale  des  Beaux- Arts,  and  in  1 890  there  ap- 
peared an  elegant  small  quarto  volume  entitled  "  Les 
Correspondants  de  Michel- Ange.  I.  Sebastiano  del 
Piombo.  Paris :  Librairie  de  I'Art."  It  is,  in  fact, 
the  first  instalment  of  Milanesi's  transcript  above 
mentioned,  containing  the  Italian  text  of  Sebasti- 
ano's  letters,  with  a  French  translation  by  Dr.  A. 
Le  Pileur.  By  what  I  must  regard  as  an  error  of 
judgment,  the  editors  omitted  from  their  collection 
those  letters  of  Sebastiano — one  of  them  of  great 
importance — which  had  previously  appeared  in  Gaye 
and  Gotti.  In  spite  of  this  omission,  the  utility  of 
the  publication  cannot  be  called  in  question,  and  I 
am  grateful  to  it  for  important  assistance  in  the  com- 
position of  my  present  work.  Still,  there  are  many 
reasons  why  this  piecemeal  and  unauthoritative 
divulgation  of  the  Buonarroti  Archives  should  be 
regarded  as  unsatisfactory.  Scholars  are  debarred 
from  collating  the  printed  matter  with  the  auto- 
graphs ;  and  as  long  as  documents  appear  without 
the  sanction  of  the  Italian  Government  or  that  of 
the  trustees  of  the  Museo  Buonarroti,  it  is  always 


xii  PREFACE. 

open  to  critics  to  dispute  their  textual  validity.  I  am, 
therefore,  glad  to  be  able  to  announce  the  fact  that 
arrangements  have  recently  been  made  between  the 
Government  and  the  so-called  **Ente  Buonarroti" 
for  a  complete  official  edition  of  the  correspondence 
in  question.  The  value  of  these  private  letters  for 
Michelangelo's  biography  was  proved  in  1875,  when 
Aurelio  Gotti  produced  the  new  Italian  Life,  of  which 
I  shall  make  mention  farther  down.  Nevertheless, 
it  is  obvious  that  specimens  selected  from  a  huge 
mass  of  documents  by  a  few  privileged  students, 
and  used  to  support  their  own  theories,  can  never 
carry  the  same  weight  or  inspire  the  same  confidence 
as  an  authorised  edition  of  the  whole.  Without  dis- 
puting the  accuracy  of  Milanesi,  Guasti,  and  Gotti, 
and  without  impugning  their  good  faith,  I  am  bound 
to  say  that  a  personal  inspection  of  the  manuscripts 
led  me  to  conclusions  upon  some  points  very  dif- 
ferent from  those  which  they  have  drawn.  It  is, 
therefore,  greatly  to  be  hoped  that  the  project  of 
the  "  Ente  Buonarroti "  will  be  carried  out,  and 
that  their  edition  of  the  correspondence  will  receive 
the  support  it  deserves  from  public  libraries  and 
amateurs  of  art  throughout  the  world. 

This  leads  me  to  mention  the  fact  that,  by  special 
favour  of  the  Italian  Government,  I  was  allowed  to 
examine  the  Archivio  Buonarroti,  and  to  make  copies 


PREFACE.  xiii 

of  documents.  The  results  of  my  researches  will 
appear  in  the  notes  to  this  work,  and  in  a  certain 
number  of  hitherto  inedited  letters  printed  at  its 
close.  Study  of  the  original  sources  enabled  me  to 
clear  up  some  points  of  considerable  interest  regard- 
ing Michelangelo's  psychology,  and  to  dispel  some 
erroneous  theories  which  had  been  invented  to  ex- 
plain the  specific  nature  of  his  personal  relations 
with  the  Marchioness  of  Pescara  and  Messer  Tom- 
maso  Cavalieri.^ 

Before  concluding  this  section  on  original 
documents,  it  is  necessary  to  include  the  miscel- 
laneous correspondence,  Papal  briefs,  contracts, 
minutes,  and  memoranda  of  all  kinds,  brought 
together  by  Gaye  in  the  **Carteggio  d'Artisti/'  by 
Bottari  and  Ticozzi  in  the  "  Lettere  Pittoriche,"  and 
by  Milanesi  in  the  "Prospetto  Cronologico"  appended 
to  Vasari's  "Life  of  Michelangelo,"  ed.  Le  Monnier, 
1855.  Minor  material  of  the  same  kind,  collected 
by  Campori,  Frediani,  Zolfanelli,  Fea,  and  others, 
for  the  illustration  of  special  episodes  in  Buonar- 
roti's life,  will  be  noticed  in  the  proper  places. 

2.  We  possess  two  biographies  composed  by  con- 
temporaries, both  of  them  friends,  admirers,  and  pupils 
of  Michelangelo — Condivi  and  Vasari.  The  earliest 
of  these  is  a  short  Life  included  by  Giorgio  Vasari 

1  See  Chapter  XII.  of  this  book. 


xiv  PREFACE. 

in  his  first  edition  of  the  "  Lives  of  Italian  Artists," 
1550.  This  brief  sketch,  though  highly  flattering, 
was  tainted  with  inaccuracies  and  hasty  statements. 
Ascanio  Condivi,  at  that  time  an  inmate  of  Buonar- 
roti's house,  felt  impelled  to  produce  a  more  exact 
and  truthful  portrait  of  his  revered  master.  This 
task  he  executed  while  enjoying  the  privilege  of 
daily  converse  with  Michelangelo ;  and  the  little 
book,  pregnant  with  valuable  information,  saw  the 
light  in  1553,  while  its  subject  was  still  living. 
Written  with  obvious  simplicity  and  candour, 
it  takes  rank  after  original  documents  as  our 
most  important  authority,  embalming,  as  it  does, 
the  old  artist's  own  memories  of  his  past  career. 
Vasari,  though  he  was  not  directly  alluded  to  by 
Condivi,  seems  to  have  bitterly  resented  the  implied 
censure  of  his  own  inaccuracy.  Four  years  after 
Michelangelo's  death  he  published  a  second  and 
greatly  enlarged  edition  of  his  Life,  which  incor- 
porated all  that  was  valuable  in  the  memoir  of  his 
Roman  critic.  The  wide  fame  of  Vasari' s  compre- 
hensive work  extinguished  Condivi  for  the  next 
two  centuries.  With  regard  to  the  comparative 
authority  of  these  two  biographies,  I  have  already 
pronounced  a  decided  opinion.  It  must,  however, 
be  remembered  that  Vasari's  second  Life  is  a  source 
of  the  highest  importance  on  its  own  account.     It 


PREFACE.  xvii 

simultaneously  with  Harford,  produced  the  first 
edition  of  his  famous  Life  in  i860.  Though  the 
biography  of  the  hero  is  so  much  embedded  in 
the  history  of  Italian  dynasties  and  wars  and 
revolutions  as  to  be  almost  submerged,  yet  this 
book  marked  a  new  departure  in  the  treatment  of 
Michelangelo.  It  introduced  a  sound  critical  and 
scientific  method,  and  added  large  stores  of  docu- 
mentary material.  The  fifth  edition,  of  1875,  will 
remain  as  a  standard  authority  upon  the  subject. 
Charles  Clement's  Life,  which  appeared  in  1861, 
does  not  need  the  same  consideration,  although 
it  is  a  refined  specimen  of  French  critical  intel- 
ligence. Peculiar  importance  attaches  to  Aurelio 
Gotti's  "Vita  di  Michelangelo,"  published  at  Florence 
in  1875.  Here,  for  the  first  time,  the  treasures  of 
the  Museo  Buonarroti  were  used  freely,  letters 
of  Michelangelo's  correspondents  being  copiously 
employed  to  illustrate  the  events  of  his  life  and 
social  surroundings.  As  literature,  it  does  not  reach 
a  very  high  standard,  nor  yet  can  it  be  maintained 
that  Gotti  added  much  of  true  or  penetrative  to 
the  study  of  his  hero's  temperament.  Nevertheless, 
Mr.  Heath  Wilson  was  well  advised  in  partly  trans- 
lating this  Life,  the  documentary  importance  of  which 
he  fully  realised,  and  in  grafting  his  own  original 
observations  upon  its  stock.     Heath  Wilson's  Life, 

VOL.    L  r 


xviii  PREFACE. 

printed  in  Florence,  but  published  by  Murray  in 
London,  1876,  contains  a  great  deal  that  is  highly 
valuable  in  the  region  of  research  into  Michel- 
angelo's technical  methods  and  the  present  condi- 
tions of  his  frescoes.  It  has  not  yet  received  the 
public  recognition  which  it  amply  deserves.  The 
book  is  distinguished  by  modesty  of  tone,  simplicity 
of  style,  and  sterling  contributions  to  our  knowledge 
of  facts.  In  the  same  year,  1876,  the  editor  of  the 
Gazette  des  Beaux-Arts  issued  a  volume  of  seven 
essays,  composed  by  seven  eminent  French  artists 
and  archaeologists,  which  must  be  rated  among  the 
most  happily  conceived  and  admirably  executed 
studies  which  have  yet  appeared  in  Michelangelo 
literature.  ''L'OEuvre  et  la  Vie  de  Michel- Ange" 
is  a  striking  monument  of  the  lively  and  incisive 
Parisian  spirit,  presenting  a  many-sided  view  of  its 
complex  subject.  Without  the  unity  of  a  biography, 
it  combines  under  one  cover  the  appreciations  of 
several  experts,  all  of  them  competent  judges  in 
their  own  departments.  Special  mention  must 
finally  be  made  of  Anton  Springer's  second  edition 
of  his  **Raffael  und  Michelangelo"  (1883).  For 
fulness  of  learning,  for  concision,  and  for  critical 
acumen,  this  is  a  very  noticeable  performance.  It 
combines  all  that  is  needful  of  historical,  biogra- 
phical, archaeological,    and    sesthetical   information. 


PREFACE.  xix 

Large  masses  of  literature  have  been  absorbed  and 
condensed  by  the  author,  who  does  not  sacrifice  his 
own  originality,  and  who  presents  the  results  of  his 
extensive  studies  with  ingenuous  modesty. 

5.  To  speak  of  purely  critical  work  in  this  field 
would  carry  me  beyond  the  scope  of  a  preface. 
Kugler,  Burckhardt,  De  Stendhal,  Charles  Perkins, 
and  countless  other  writers  on  the  fine  arts,  have 
given  excellent  appreciations  of  the  great  man's 
artistic  genius.  Kuskin  has  shown  how  far  a 
gifted  writer  can  miss  the  mark  through  want  of 
sympathy.^  Pater  has  touched  upon  the  poems 
with  his  usual  delicacy;  Niccolini,  in  his  treatise 
on  the  Sublime,  has  written  fiery  passages  of  im- 
passioned eloquence ;  Michelet  has  sought  to  con- 
nect the  prophecy  of  Michelangelo's  art  with  the 
political  and  moral  death-throes  of  his  age.  I 
mention  only  a  few  of  the  more  distinguished 
authors,  in  whose  work  penetrative  acumen  of  one 
sort  or  another  is  combined  with  a  real  literary 
talent.  Of  late  another  school  of  critics  has  arisen, 
who,  passing  lightly  over  Michelangelo  as  artist, 
seek  to  explain  his  personal  character  by  the 
methods  of  morbid  psychology.  These  will  be 
duly  considered  in  the  proper  place ;  but,  for  ob- 
vious reasons,  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  render  due 


^  See  the  lecture  on  Michelangelo  and  Tintoretto. 


XX  PREFACE. 

account  here  of  all  the  fugitive  essays  and  critical 
expositions  which  have  saturated  my  mind  during 
thirty  years  of  sustained  interest  in  Michelangelo. 
My  own  previous  work  in  this  department  will  be 
found  in  the  third  volume  of  the  "Renaissance 
in  Italy,"  and  in  the  preface  to  my  translation  of 
*'  Sonnets  of  Michael  Angelo  and  Campanella." 
/""In  writing  the  biography  which  follows,  I  have 
/striven  to  exclude  extraneous  matter,  so  far  as  this 
I    was  possible.     I  have  not,  therefore,  digressed  into 

the  region  of  Italian  history  and  comparative  artistic 

i 

^1     criticism.    My  purpose  was  to  give  a  fairly  complete 

3*      account  of  the  hero's  life  and  works,  and  to  con- 
J-    centrate  attention  on  his  personality.     Wherever  I 
:^1      could,  I  made  him  tell  his  own  tale  by  presenting 
original  letters  and  memoranda ;  also,  whenever  the 
exigencies    of  the  narrative  permitted,  I  used  the 
\  language  of  his  earliest  biographers,   Condivi  and 
Vasari.     While  adopting  this  method,  I  was  aware 
that  my  work  would  suffer  in  regard  to  continuity 
of  style ;  but  the  compensating  advantages  of  vera- 
city,   and    direct    appeal    to    authoritative    sources, 
seemed  to  justify  this  sacrifice  of  form. 

I  must  finally  record  my  obligations  to  many 
friends  and  scholars  who  have  rendered  me  im- 
portant assistance  during  the  composition  of  this 
book.       First    and    foremost    comes    the    Cavaliere 


PREFACE.  xxi 

Professor  Guido  Biagi,  Prefect  of  the  Laurentian 
Library  at  Florence,  to  whom  I  am  in  great  measure 
indebted  for  access  to  the  manuscripts  of  the  Museo 
Buonarroti,  who  has  spared  no  pains  in  furnishing 
me  with  exact  information  upon  several  intricate 
questions,  and  who  copied  documents  for  me  with 
his  own  hand.  To  Professor  J.  Henry  Middleton, 
of  Cambridge,  are  due  my  sincere  thanks,  both  for 
placing  his  reconstruction  of  the  Tomb  of  Julius 
at  my  disposal,  and  also  for  reading  a  large  portion 
of  the  proof-sheets  as  they  passed  through  the  press, 
and  making  many  valuable  suggestions.  Lieut.-Col. 
Alfred  Pearson  and  Mrs.  Ross  of  Poggio  Gherardo 
performed  the  same  kind  office  of  reading  proofs 
and  oflfering  hints  upon  points  of  literary  style.  To 
Dr.  Fortnum  I  am  indebted  for  permission  to  repro- 
duce his  wax  model  and  Leone's  medal  of  Michel- 
angelo in  old  age.  Professor  Sidney  Colvin,  of  the 
British  Museum,  allowed  me  to  photograph  eight 
original  drawings  existing  in  that  national  collection. 
To  Mr.  Edward  Prioleau  Warren  I  owe  much  interest- 
ing information,  collected  by  him  from  old  authors, 
upon  difficult  points  connected  with  the  Cupola  of 
S.  Peter's.  Mr.  Stillman  of  Rome  helped  me  finally 
to  arrive  at  the  truth  about  Michelangelo's  model  for 
the  Dome.  To  his  untiring  kindness,  and  to  Dr. 
Josef  Durm,   whose  work  is  cited   in  my  List  of 


xxii  PREFACE. 

Authorities,  my  gratitude  is  due  for  such  accuracy 
as  my  account  of  the  model  in  Chapter  XIV.  may 
possess.  My  friend  Mr.  Samuel  Eichards,  the  dis- 
tinguished American  painter,  assisted  me  with  tech- 
nical and  critical  observations  upon  several  intricate 
details  of  Michelangelo's  work,  and,  furthermore, 
enabled  me  to  give  the  right  solution  of  the  action 
intended  in  the  colossal  statue  of  David  at  Florence. 
Finally,  to  Mr.  Edward  J.  Poynter,  E.A.,  thanks  are 
owed  for  valuable  aid  afforded  in  preparing  the  illus- 
trations. Acknowledgments  of  courtesies  extended 
to  me  by  other  gentlemen,  if  here  omitted,  will  be 
found  in  the  notes  appended  to  the  text. 

Davos  Platz,  April  6,  1892. 


LIST  OF  SOME  OF  THE  PRINCIPAL  BOOKS 
REFERRED  TO  IN  THESE  VOLUMES. 

Le  Lettere  di  Michelangelo  Buonarroti,   publicate   coi   Ricordi 

ed   i  Contratti  artistici.      Per  cura  di  Gaetano    Milanesi. 

Firenze:  Le  Monnier,  1875.     Cited,  Lettere. 
Le  Rime  di  Michelangelo  Buonarroti,  cavate  dagli  Autograft  e 

pubblicate  da  Cesare  Guasti.     Firenze :  Le  Monnier,  1863. 

Cited,  Rime. 
Carte  Michelangiolesche  inedite.    Milano :  Autografia,  G.  Daelli, 

1865.     Cited,  Carte  Mich. 
Les    Correspondants    de  Michel-Ange.    No.    i.     Sebastiano  del 

Piombo.      Texte  italien    public  pour  la  premiere  fois  par 

Gaetano  Milanesi,  avec  trad.  fr.  par  A.  Le  Pileur.    Paris : 

Librairie  de  I'Art,  1890.     Cited,  Les  Correspondants. 
Carteggio  d'Artisti.     Giovanni  Gaye.    3  vols.     Firenze :  Molini, 

1840.     Cited,  Gaye. 
Lettere   Pittoriche    raccolte   dal   Bottari    e    Ticozzi.      Milano : 

Silvestri,  1822.     Cited,  Lett.  Pitt. 
Les  Arts  en  Portugal.     A.  Baczynski.     Paris :  Benouard,  1846. 

Cited,  Raczynski. 
Vita  di  Michelangelo  Buonarroti,  Scritta  da  Ascanio  Condivi. 

Pisa:  N.  Capurro,  1823.     Cited,  Condivi. 
Le   Vite   de'   piu   eccellenti    Pittori    Scultori  e   Architetti,    di 

Giorgio  Vasari.       14  vols.       Firenze:    Le  Monnier,   1855. 

Cited,  Vasari. 
The  Life  of  Michel  Angelo  Buonarroti.     By  John  S.  Harford. 

2  vols.     London:   Longmans,  1857.     Oited^  Harford. 
Illustrations  of  the  Genius  of  Michael  Angelo.     Published  for 

John  S.  Harford.    London:  Colnaghi  &  Longmans,   1857. 

Cited,  Harford  Illustrations. 


xxiv  PRINCIPAL   BOOKS   REFERRED   TO. 

Leben  Michelangelo's.    Von  Hermann  Grimm.    2  vols.    5th  edit. 

Berlin  :  W.  Hertz,  1879.     Cited,  Grimm. 
Vita  di  Michelangelo  Buonarroti,  Narrata  con  I'aiuto  di  nuovi 

Documenti  da  Aurelio  Gotti.     Firenze  :  Tip.  della  Gazzetta 

d'ltalia,  1875.     2  vols.     Cited,  Gotti, 
Life  and  Works   of   Michelangelo  Buonarroti.      By  C.    Heath 

Wilson.      London:    John    Murray,    1876.      Cited,    Heath 

Wilson. 
Raffael    und    Michelangelo.      Von   Anton    Springer.       2   vols. 

Leipzig:   Seemann,  1883.     Cited, /^nw^er. 
L'OEuvre  et  la  Vie  de  Michel- Ange.     Paris  :  Gazette  des  Beaux- 
Arts,  1876.     Cited,  VCEuvre  et  la  Vie, 
La  Bibliografia  di  Michelangelo  Buonarroti,  e  gli  Incisori  delle 

sue  Opere.    Luigi  Passerini.    Firenze:  Cellini,  1875.    Cited, 

La  Bibliografia. 
Le  Rime  di  Vittoria  Colonna,  con  la  Vita  della  Medesima  da 

P.  E.  Visconti.     Roma :  Salviucci,  1840.    Cited,  Visconti, 
A   Critical    Account   of    the    Drawings   of    Michelangelo    and 

Raffaello  in  the  Univ.  Gall.,  Oxford.      By  J.  C.  Robinson. 

Oxford  :  Clarendon  Press,  1870.     Cited,  Robinson. 
The  Sonnets  of  M.  A.  Buonarroti  and  T.  Campanella,  translated 

by  John  Addington  Symonds.     London :    Smith,  Elder,  & 

Co.,  1878.     Cited,  English  Version. 
The  Renaissance  in  Italy.    By  John  Addington  Symonds.     7  vols. 

London :  Smith,  Elder,  &  Co.    Cited,  Renaissance  in  Italy. 
Michelangelo's  Entwurf  zu  dem  Karton  der  Schlacht  bei  Cascina. 

Von  Moriz  Thausing.      Leipzig:  Seemann,    1878.      Cited, 

Thausijig, 
Tuscan  Sculptors :  their  Lives,  Works,  and  Times.     By  C.   C. 

Perkins.       2    vols.       London:    Longmans,    1864.       Cited, 

Perkins. 
Ragionamento  Storico   su   le   diverse   gite  fatte   a   Carrara  da 

Michelangielo  Buonarroti.      Massa,   pei   Fratelli   Frediani, 

1837.     Cited,  Frediani. 
La  Lunigiana  e  le  Alpi  Apuane.     Studii  del  Professore  Cesare 

Zolfanelli.     Firenze:  Barbara,  1870.     Cited,  Zolfanelli 


PRINCIPAL   BOOKS   REFERRED   TO.  xxv 

Lettera  di  M.  A.  Buonarroti,  pubblicafca  ed  illustrata  dal  Pro- 

fessore  Sebastian©  Ciampi.    Firenze :  Passigli,  1834.    Cited, 

CiampL 
Michelangelo  Buonarroti   (II  Vecchio):    Studio  di  Carlo  Parla- 

greco.     Napoli ;  Fratelli  Orfeo,  1888.     Gitedi,  Parlagr ecu. 
The  Life  of  Benvenuto  Cellini.     Translated  by  John  Addington 

Symonds.     London:  John  C.  Nimmo.     Cited,  Gellini. 
Storia  Fiorentina  di  Benedetto  Yarchi.     3  vols.     Firenze :  Le 

Monnier,  1857.     Cited,  Varcld. 
Lettere  di  Giambattista  Busini  a  Benedetto  Varchi.     Firenze: 

Le  Monnier,  186 1.     Cited,  Busini. 
La  Scrittura  di  Artisti  Italiani     Firenze:  Pini,  1869.     Cited, 

Pini. 
The  Art  of   Michelangelo  Buonarroti  in  the  British  Museum. 

By  Louis  Fagan.     London:  Dulau,  1883.     Cited,  Fagan. 
South   Kensington   Museum.     Italian  Sculpture  of  the  Middle 

Ages,    &c.      By   J.    C.   Robinson.      London :    Chapman   & 

Hall,  1862.     Cited,  Sculpture,  S.K.M. 
Michelangelo :     eine     Renaissancestudie.       Von     Ludwig    von 

Scheffler.    Altenberg :  S.  Geibel,  1892.    Citedi,  Von  Scheffler. 
Carteggio  di  Vittoria  Colonna  Marchesa  di  Pescara.     Raccolto 

e    pubblicato    da    Ermanno    Ferrero    e    Giuseppe    Miiller. 

Torino:  E.  Loescher,  1889.     Cited,  Ferrero  and  Miiller, 
Die  Domkuppel  in  Florenz,  und  die  Kuppel  der  Petruskirche  in 

Rom.     Yon  Josef  Durm.     Berlin  :  Ernst  &  Kom,   1887. 

Cited,  Durm. 


I 


CONTENTS. 

VOLUME    THE    FIRST. 
CHAPTER  I. 

PAGES 

birth,  boyhood,  youth  at  florence,  down  to  lorenzo 

de'  medioi's  death.     1 475-1492  .         .         ,         .         1-39 

CHAPTER  II. 

FIRST     VISITS     TO     BOLOGNA     AND      ROME THE      MADONNA 

DELLA      FEBBRE      and      OTHER     WORKS     IN      MARBLE. 
1492-150 I     .  .  .  c  .  .  .  .  40-85 

CHAPTER  III. 

residence    in    FLORENCE THE   DAVID,       150I-1505  .       86-1 23 

CHAPTER  IV. 

JULIUS    He    CALLS   MICHELANGELO   TO   ROME — PROJECT   FOR 

THE     pope's    TOMB THE     REBUILDING    OF    S.    PETEr's 

FLIGHT     FROM    ROME — CARTOON     FOR    THE     BATTLE 

OF    PISA.        1505,    1506    ......     124-174 

CHAPTER  V. 

SECOND     VISIT     TO      BOLOGNA THE      BRONZE      STATUE      OP 

JULIUS  II. PAINTING  OF  THE  SISTINE  VAULT.       1506- 

I512      .  ,  , 175-235 


xxviii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  YI. 

PAGES 

ON     MICHELANGELO    AS     DRAUGHTSMAN,     PAINTER,     SCULP- 
TOR       .  .  .  o  .  .  .  .  .    236-298 

CHAPTER  VII. 

LEO     X.     PLANS     FOR     THE     CHURCH     OF     S.     LORENZO     AT 

FLORENCE  MICHELANGELO's      LIFE      AT      CARRARA. 

15^3-1521    .  .  o  .  .  .  .  .    299-364 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

ADRIAN      VI.      AND      CLEMENT      VII. — THE      SACRISTY      AND 

LIBRARY    OP    S.    LORENZO.        152I-1526      .  .  .    365-40I 

CHAPTER  IX. 

SACK       OP      ROME      AND     SIEGE       OF      FLORENCE MICHEL- 

ANGELO'S  FLIGHT  TO   VENICE HIS    RELATIONS    TO  THE 

MEDICL       I527-I534        ......    402-469 


LIST   OF    ILLUSTRATIONS. 

VOLUME  THE  FIRST. 


L  Portrait  of  Michelangelo  Buonarrotl  From  an  oil- 
painting  in  the  possession  of  the  Earl  of  Wemyss.  Pro- 
bably one  of  the  contemporary  easel-pictures  made  of 
the  Artist Frontispiece. 

'2,  Bas-relief  of  the  Centaurs,  one  of  Michelangelo's  first 
works  in  marble,  now  preserved  in  the  Casa  Buonar- 
roti, Florence To  face        28 

3.  Study  of  Anatomy.     This  pen-drawing  is  at  the  Taylor 

Gallery,  Oxford,  and  shows  a  corpse  stretched  upon  a 
plank  and  trestles,  with  two  men  bending  over  it  with 
knives  in  their  hands,  a  candle  in  the  body  of  the  subject 
serving  as  light 44 

4.  Statue  of  S.  John.    This  statue,  now  in  the  Berlin  Museum, 

is  probably  the  S.  Giovannino  made  for  Lorenzo  di 
PiERFRANCESco,  oue  of  the  Medici  family.  The  statue 
was  rediscovered  at  Pisa  in  1874 48 

5.  Cupid.    This  fine  piece  of  sculpture,  which  shows  Michel- 

angelo's originality  of  treatment,  was  discovered  some 
forty  years  ago  in  the  cellars  of  the  Rucellai  Gardens 
at  Florence.  The  left  arm  was  broken,  the  right  hand 
damaged,  and  the  hair  had  never  received  the  artist's  final 
touches.  The  distinguished  Florentine  sculptor  Santarelli 
restored  the  arm,  and  the  Cupid  passed  by  purchase  into 
the  possession  of  the  English  nation,  and  is  now  at  South 

Kensington 64 

xxix 


XXX  LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAOK 


6.  Madonna  and  Child.    This  marble  statue  is  in  a  chapel  of 

Notre  Dame,  at  Bruges.  It  was  made  during  Michel- 
angelo's early  manhood,  for  the  Mouscron  family,  mer- 
chants of  that  city To  face        y6 

7.  Statue    of    David.    This   masterpiece    of    Michelangelo, 

wherein  he  first  displayed  that  quality  of  spirit  and  awe- 
inspiring  force  for  which  he  afterwards  became  so  famous, 
stood  uncovered  for  more  than  three  centuries  upon  the 
steps  of  the  Palazzo  Yecchio  at  Florence.  In  1873  i^  ^^^ 
removed  to  a  hall  of  the  Accademia  delle  Belle  Arti  in 
that  city 88 

8.  Whole  Figure  and  Arm  op  the  David,  from  the  original 

wax  models  in  South  Kensington  Museum        ...        96 

9.  Right  and  Left  Legs  of  the  David,  from  the  original 

wax  models  in  South  Kensington  Museum       .        .        .100 

10.  Right  Hand  of  the  David 104 

11.  Drawing  made  for  the  Second  David,  now  in  the  Louvre, 

Paris 108 

1 2.  Bas-relief  of  Holy  Family.    A  circular  work  in  marble, 

now  in  the  Collection  of  the  Royal  Academy,  London      .       112 

13.  Picture  op  Holy  Family,  commonly  known  as  the  Doni 

Madonna,  now  in  the  Tribune  of  the  Uffizi,  Florence       .       116 

14.  Design  for  the  Tomb  of  Julius  II.,  made  about  1513. 

The  reconstruction  from  two  drawings,  one  at  Florence, 
the  other  at  Berlin,  is  due  to  Professor  Middleton,  of 
Cambridge 138 

15.  Figure  of  a  Bather,  from  the  Cartoon  of  the  Battle  of 

Pisa.    A  contemporary  drawing  from  the  original.     In 

the  British  Museum 168 

16.  Outline  Chart  of  the  Sistine  Chapel      ....      200 

17.  Plan  showing  the  scheme  for  painting  the  Vault  of  the 

Sistine  Chapel 208 

18.  Study  of  Three  Figures,  for  the  ceiling  of  the  Sistine 

Chapel.     In  the  British  Museum      ...        .        .        .       224 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS.  xxxi 

PAGH 

19.  Study  for  Adam,  for  the  Vault  of  the  Sistine.    In  the 

possession  of  F.  Locker,  Esq To  face      240 

20.  Head  of  the  Prophet  Isaiah.    Drawn  by  E.  J.  Poynter, 

R.A.,  from  the  ceiling  of  the  Sistine  Chapel     .        .        .      244 

21.  Head  of  the  Delphic  Sibyl.    Drawn  by  E.  J.  Poynter, 

R.A.,  from  the  ceiling  of  the  Sistine  Chapel     .        .        .       248 

22.  One  of  the  Genii,  from  the  Vault  of  the  Sistine  Chapel  .      256 

23.  Study  for  the  Resurrection.    A  drawing  in  the  British 

Museum 288 

24.  Drawing  of  a  Male  Figure,  showing  Michelangelo's  marks 

for  proportions.  In  the  Royal  Collection  at  Windsor 
Castle 264 

25.  Study  for  the  Male  Nude,  in  the  Albertina  Gallery, 

Vienna 272 

26.  Studies    from    the    Nude,    in    the    Albertina    Gallery, 

Vienna      ..........      280 

27.  Study  in  Pen  and  Ink  for  the  Madonna,  in  the  Louvre, 

Paris 294 

28.  The  Arcieri,  or  Bersaqlio.    This  drawing  in  red  chalk  is 

perhaps  the  most  pleasing  and  most  perfect  of  all  Michel- 
angelo's designs,  and  is  now  in  the  Royal  Collection  at 
Windsor  Castle 298 

29.  Carrara  Mountains  and  Marble  Quarries.    This  land- 

scape, from  a  modern  painting  by  Charles  H.  Poing- 
DESTRE,  Esq.,  shows  the  method  of  transporting  the  blocks 
of  marble — a  method  which  has  changed  but  little  since 
the  days  when  Michelangelo  worked  in  these  quarries      .       320 

I  30.  The  Risen  Christ  op  the  Minerva.  This  is  an  original 
drawing  by  Michelangelo,  now  in  the  possession  of  J.  P. 
Heseltine,  Esq.,  and  reproduced  here  for  the  first  time     .      360 


xxxii  LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

PAGE 

31.  Architectural  Drawing.    No.  i.    Early  sketch  for  the 

tombs  of  the  Medici  at  San  Lorenzo,  Florence,  showing 
two  sarcophagi  conjoined  below  a  seated  captain.  In  the 
British  Museum To  face      380 

32.  Architectural  Drawing.    No.  2.    Late  stage  of  one  of 

Michelangelo's  sketches  for  the  tomb  at  San  Lorenzo, 
Florence,  showing  a  first  idea  for  the  Statue  of  the  Dawn. 
In  the  British  Museum 384 

33.  Architectural  Sketch.    No.  3.    If  meant  for  the  Medi- 

cean  Sacristy  at  San  Lorenzo,  Florence,  it  indicates  ideas 
for  the  treatment  of  spandrels  and  ceiling.  In  the 
British  Museum 384 

34.  Hercules  and  Cacus.    From  the  original  wax  model  in 

South  Kensington  Museum 438 


LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 


CHAPTER  I. 

History  of  the  Buonarroti  Simoni  family,  their  arms  and  name. — 
Birth  of  Michelangelo  at  Caprese. — 2.  Description  of  Chiusi  in 
Casentino  and  Caprese. — 3.  Michelangelo's  brothers. — His  childhood 
at  Settignano. — Sent  to  school  in  Florence. — Early  passion  for  design. 
— Francesco  Granacci. — 4.  Apprenticed  to  the  Ghirlandajo  brothers. 
— Stories  of  his  youthful  power  as  a  draughtsman. — 5.  Enters  the 
Medicean  Gardens  at  S.  Marco. — Studies  sculpture  under  Bertoldo. 
— Story  of  the  Faun's  mask. — Lorenzo  de'  Medici  takes  him  into 
his  own  house,  and  appoints  his  father  to  an  office. — Manner  of 
life  in  the  Casa  Medici. — 6.  Michelangelo's  first  works. — The  bas- 
reliefs  of  the  Centaurs,  and  a  seated  Madonna. — 7.  Quarrel  with 
Piero  Torrigiano. — 8.  Florence  under  Lorenzo  de'  Medici. — Public 
amusements. — Savonarola's  preaching. — Death  of  Lorenzo. 


I. 

^HE  Buonarroti  Simoni,  to  whom  Michelangelo 
jelonged,  were  a  Florentine  family  of  ancient  burgher 
lobility.  Their  arms  appear  to  have  been  origin- 
lly  '*  azure  two  bends  or."  To  this  coat  was 
dded  **  a  label  of  four  points  gules  enclosing  three 
leur-de-lys  or."  That  augmentation,  adopted  from 
he  shield  of  Charles  of  Anjou,  occurs  upon  the 
cutcheons  of  many  Guelf  houses  and  cities.  In 
he  case  of  the  Florentine  Simoni,  it  may  be  ascribed 

VOU   I.  A 


2  LIFE  OF   MICHELANGELO. 

to  the  period  when  Buonarrota  di  Simone  Simoni 
held  office  as  a  captain  of  the  Guelf  party  (1392) 
Such,  then,  was  the  paternal  coat  borne  by  the 
subject  of  this  Memoir.  His  brother  Buonarroto 
received  a  further  augmentation  in  15 15  from  Leo 
X.,  to  wit :  "  upon  a  chief  or,  a  pellet  azure 
charged  with  fleur-de-lys  or,  between  the  capital 
letters  L.  and  X."  At  the  same  time  he  wasl 
created  Count  Palatine.  The  old  and  simple  bear-j 
ing  of  the  two  bends  was  then  crowded  down  into 
the  extreme  base  of  the  shield,  while  the  Angevine 
label  found  room  beneath  the  chief. 

According  to  a  vague  tradition,  the  Simoni  drew 
their  blood  from  the  high  and  puissant  Counts  of 
Canossa.  Michelangelo  himself  believed  in  this 
pedigree,  for  which  there  is,  however,  no  foundation 
in  fact,  and  no  heraldic  corroboration.  According 
to  his  friend  and  biographer  Condivi,  the  sculptor's 
first  Florentine  ancestor  was  a  Messer  Simone  dei 
Conti  di  Canossa,  who  came  in  1250  as  Podest^ 
to  Florence.^  **The  eminent  qualities  of  this  man 
gained  for  him  admission  into  the  burghership  of 
the  city,  and  he  was  appointed  captain  of  a  Sestiere ; 
for  Florence  in  those  days  was  divided  into  Sestieri, 
instead  of  Quartieri,  as  according  to  the  present 
usage."  Michelangelo's  contemporary,  the  Count 
Alessandro  da  Canossa,  acknowledged  this  rela- 
tionship. Writing  on  the  9th  of  October  1520,  he 
addresses  the   then  famous   sculptor  as   "  honoured 

^  Condivi,  p.  i. 


THE   BUONARROTI   SIMONI.  3 

kinsman,"  and  gives  the  following  piece  of  inform  a- 
tion  :  ^  '*  Turning  over  my  old  papers,  I  have  dis- 
covered that  a  Messere  Simone  da  Canossa  was 
Podestk  of  Florence,  as  I  have  already  mentioned 
to  the  above-named  Giovanni  da  Reggio."  Never- 
theless, it  appears  now  certain  that  no  Simone  da 
Canossa  held  the  office  of  Podestk  at  Florence  in 
he  thirteenth  century.     The  family  can  be  traced 

p  to  one  Bernardo,  who  died  before  the  year  1228. 

is  grandson  was  called  Buonarrota,  and  the  fourth 
n  descent  was  Simone.^  These  names  recur  fre- 
quently in  the  next  generations.  Michelangelo 
always  addressed  his  father  as  "  Lodovico  di  Lionardo 
di  Buonarrota  Simoni,"  or  **  Louis,  the  son  of 
Leonard,  son  of  Buonarrota  Simoni ; "  and  he  used 
the  family  surname  of  Simoni  in  writing  to  his 
brothers  and  his  nephew  Lionardo.  Yet  he  pre- 
ferred to  call  himself  Michelangelo  Buonarroti ; 
and  after  his  lifetime  Buonarroti  became  fixed 
for  the  posterity  of  his  younger  brother.  "The 
reason,"  says  Condivi,  "  why  the  family  in  Florence 
changed  its  name  from  Canossa  to  Buonarroti  was 
this :  Buonarroto  continued  for  many  generations 
to  be  repeated  in  their  house,  down  to  the  time  of 
Michelangelo,  who  had  a  brother  of  that  name ; 
and  inasmuch  as  several  of  these  Buonarroti  held 
rank   in    the    supreme  magistracy  of  the  republic, 

^  Gotti,  i.  4. 

^  He  died  probably  in  13 14,  after  playing  a  considerable  part  in  the 
history  of  his  native  town.  From  him  the  family  derived  their  sur- 
Qame  of  Simoni. 


I 


I 


4  UFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

especially  the  brother  I  have  just  mentioned,  who 
filled  the  office  of  Prior  during  Pope  Leo's  visit 
to  Florence,  as  may  be  read  in  the  annals  of  that 
city,  this  baptismal  name,  by  force  of  frequent  repe- 
tition, became  the  cognomen  of  the  whole  family ; 
the  more  easily,  because  it  is  the  custom  at  Florence, 
in  elections  and  nominations  of  officers,  to  add  the 
christian  names  of  the  father,  grandfather,  great- 
grandfather, and  sometimes  even  of  remoter  ancestors, 
to  that  of  each  citizen.  Consequently,  through  the 
many  Buonarroti  who  followed  one  another,  and 
from  the  Simone  who  was  the  first  founder  of  the 
house  in  Florence,  they  gradually  came  to  be  called 
Buonarroti  Simoni,  which  is  their  present  desig- 
nation."^ Excluding  the  legend  about  Simone 
da  Canossa,  this  is  a  pretty  accurate  account  of 
what  really  happened.  Italian  patronymics  were 
formed  indeed  upon  the  same  rule  as  those  of 
many  Norman  families  in  Great  Britain.  When 
the  use  of  Di  and  Fitz  expired,  Simoni  survived 
from  Di  Simone,  as  did  my  surname  Symonds  from 
^itz-Symond. 

On  the  6th  of  March  1475,  according  to 
o«c^  present  computation,  Lodovico  di  Lionardo 
Buonarroti  Simoni  wrote  as  follows  in  his  private 
notebook :  "  I  record  that  on  this  day,  March  6, 
1474,  a  male  child  was  born  to  me.  I  gave  him 
the  name  of  Michelangelo,  and  he  was  born  on  a 
Monday  morning  four  or  ^ve  hours  before  daybreak, 

^  Condivi,  p.  2. 


BIRTH   AT   CAPRESE.  5 

md  he  was  born  while  I  was  Podest^  of  Caprese,^ 
md  he  was  born  at  Caprese ;  and  the  godfathers 
rvere  those  I  have  named  below.  He  was  baptized 
)n  the  eighth  of  the  same  month  in  the  Church 
)f  San  Giovanni  at  Caprese.  These  are  the  god- 
fathers : — 

Don  Daniello  di  sbr  Buonaguida  of  Florence,  Rector  of 

San  Giovanni  at  Caprese ; 
Don  Andrea  di  ....  of  Poppi,  Rector  of  the  Abbey  of 

Diasiano  (t,e.  Dicciano)  ; 
Jacopo  di  Francesco  of  Casurio  (1) ; 
Marco  di  Giorgio  of  Caprese ; 
Giovanni  di  Biaqio  of  Caprese ; 
Andrea  di  Biagio  of  Caprese ; 
Francesco  di  Jacopo  del  Anduino  (t)  of  Caprese ; 
Ser  Bartolommeo  di  Santi  del  Lanse  (1),  Notary. 

i 

^ote  that  the  date  is  March  6,  1474,  according  to 
Florentine  usage  ab  incarnatione,  and  according  to 
he  Roman  usage,  a  nativitate,  it  is  1475."^ 

Vasari  tells  us  that  the  planets  were  propitious 
it  the  moment  of  Michelangelo's  nativity :  "  Mer- 
cury and  Venus  having  entered  with  benign  aspect  \ 
nto   the   house    of  Jupiter,    which    indicated   that  / 
narvellous  and  extraordinary  works,  both  of  manual  \ 
xt  and  intellect,  were  to  be  expected  from  him."' 

*  Gotti,  vol.  i.  p.  3.  *  Vasari,  xii.  158. 


LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 


II.  ! 

r  .  ^ 

Caprese,  from  its  beauty  and  remoteness,  deserved 
to  be  the  birthplace  of  a  great  artist.  It  is  not| 
improbable  that  Lodovico  Buonarroti  and  his  wife 
Francesca  approached  it  from  Pontassieve  in  Vald- 
arno,  crossing  the  little  pass  of  Consuma,  descending 
on  the  famous  battle-field  of  Campaldino,  and  skirting 
the  ancient  castle  of  the  Conti  Guidi  at  Poppi. 
Every  step  in  the  romantic  journey  leads  over 
ground  hallowed  by  old  historic  memories.  From 
Poppi  the  road  descends  the  Arno  to  a  richly 
cultivated  district,  out  of  which  emerges  on  its 
hill  the  prosperous  little  town  of  Bibbiena.  High 
up  to  eastward  springs  the  broken  crest  of  La 
Vernia,  a  mass  of  hard  millstone  rock  {macigno) 
jutting  from  desolate  beds  of  lime  and  shale  at 
the  height  of  some  3500  feet  above  the  sea.  It 
was'^^here,  among  the  sombre  groves  of  beech  and 
pine  which  wave  along  the  ridge,  that  S.  Francis 
came  to  found  his  infant  Order,  composed  the  Hymn 
to  the  Sun,  and  received  the  supreme  honour  of 
the  stigmata.  To  this  point  Dante  retired  when  the 
death  of  Henry  VII.  extinguished  his  last  hopes 
for  Italy.  At  one  extremity  of  the  wedge-like 
block  which  forms  La  Vernia,  exactly  on  the  water- 
shed between  Arno  and  Tiber,  stands  the  ruined 
castle  of  Chiusi  in  Casentino.     This  was  one  of  the 


CHIUSI   AND   CAPRESE.  7 

WO  chief  places  of  Lodovico  Buonarroti's  podes- 
teria.  It  may  be  said  to  crown  the  valley  of  the 
Amo  ;  for  the  waters  gathered  here  flow  downwards 
toward  Arezzo,  and  eventually  wash  the  city  walls 
of  Florence.  A  few  steps  farther,  travelling  south, 
we  pass  into  the  valley  of  the  Tiber,  and,  after 
traversing  a  barren  upland  region  for  a  couple  of 
hours,  reach  the  verge  of  the  descent  upon  Caprese. 
Here  the  landscape  assumes  a  softer  character.  Far 
away  stretch  blue  Apennines,  ridge  melting  into 
ridge  above  Perugia  in  the  distance.  Gigantic 
oaks  begin  to  clothe  the  stony  hillsides,  and  little 
by  little  a  fertile  mountain  district  of  chesnut-woods 
and  vineyards  expands  before  our  eyes,  equal  in 
charm  to  those  aerial  hills  and  vales  above  Pontre- 
moli.  Caprese  has  no  central  commune  or  head- 
village.  It  is  an  aggregate  of  scattered  hamlets  and 
farmhouses,  deeply  embosomed  in  a  sea  of  greenery. 
Where  the  valley  contracts  and  the  infant  Tiber 
breaks  into  a  gorge,  rises  a  wooded  rock  crowned 
with  the  ruins  of  an  ancient  castle.  It  was  here, 
then,  that  Michelangelo  first  saw  the  light.  When 
we  discover  that  he  was  a  man  of  more  than  usually 
nervous  temperament,  very  different  in  quality  from 
any  of  his  relatives,  we  must  not  forget  what  a 
fatiguing  journey  had  been  performed  by  his  mother, 
who  was  then  awaiting  her  delivery.  Even  suppos- 
ing that  Lodovico  Buonarroti  travelled  from  Florence 
by  Arezzo  to  Caprese,  many  miles  of  rough  mountain- 
roads  must  have  been  traversed  by  her  on  horseback. 


8  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 


III. 

Lodovico,  who,  as  we  have  seen,  was  Podest^  of 
Caprese  and  of  Chiusi  in  the  Casentino,  had  akeady 
one  son  by  his  first  wife,  Francesca,  the  daughter 
of  Neri  di  Miniato  del  Sera  and  Bonda  Rucellai. 
This  elder  brother,  Lionardo,  grew  to  manhood, 
and  became  a  devoted  follower  of  Savonarola. 
Under  the  influence  of  the  Ferrarese  friar,  he  de- 
termined to  abjure  the  world,  and  entered  the 
Dominican  Order  in  1491.  We  know  very  little 
about  him,  and  he  is  only  once  mentioned  in 
Michelangelo's  correspondence.  Even  this  reference 
cannot  be  considered  certain.  Writing  to  his  father 
from  Eome,  July  i,  1497,  Michelangelo  says:  "I 
let  you  know  that  Fra  Lionardo  returned  hither  to 
Rome.  He  says  that  he  was  forced  to  fly  from 
Viterbo,  and  that  his  frock  had  been  taken  from 
him,  wherefore  he  wished  to  go  there  {i.e.  to 
Florence).  So  I  gave  him  a  golden  ducat,  which  he 
asked  for ;  and  I  think  you  ought  already  to  have 
learned  this,  for  he  should  be  there  by  this  time."  ^ 
When  Lionardo  died  is  uncertain.  We  only  know 
that  he  was  in  the  convent  of  S.  Mark  at  Florence 
in  the  year  1510.  Owing  to  this  brother's  adoption 
of  the  religious  life,  Michelangelo  became,  early  in 
his  youth,  the  eldest  son  of  Lodovico's  family.     It 

^  Lcttere,  No.  i.  p.  3. 


CHILDHOOD   AT   SETTIGNANO.  9 

will  be  seen  that  during  the  whole  course  of  his 
long  career  he  acted  as  the  mainstay  of  his  father, 
and  as  father  to  his  younger  brothers.  The  strength 
and  the  tenacity  of  his  domestic  affections  are  very 
remarkable  in  a  man  who  seems  never  to  have 
thought  of  marrying.  "  Art^'  he  used  to  say,  *Vis  a 
sufficiently  exacting  mistress."  Instead  of  seeking 
to  beget  children  for  his  own  solace,  he  devoted 
himself  to  the  interests  of  his  kinsmen. 

The  office  of  Podest&,  lasted  only  six  months, 
and  at  the  expiration  of  this  term  Lodovico  re- 
turned to  Florence.  He  put  the  infant  Michel- 
angelo out  to  nurse  in  the  village  of  Settignano, 
where  the  Buonarroti  Simoni  owned  a  farm.  Most 
of  the  people  of  that  district  gained  their  liveli- 
hood in  the  stone -quarries  around  Settignano  and 
Maiano  on  the  hillside  of  Fiesole.  Michelangelo's 
foster-mother  was  the  daughter  and  the  wife  of 
stone-cutters.  *'  George,"  said  he  in  after-years  to 
his  friend  Vasari,  "if  I  possess  anything  of  good 
in  my  mental  constitution,  it  comes  from  my  having 
been  born  in  your  keen  climate  of  Arezzo ;  just  as 
I  drew  the  chisel  and  the  mallet  with  which  I  carve 
statues  in  together  with  my  nurse's  milk."  ^ 
(  When  Michelangelo  was  of  age  to  go  to  school, 
his  father  put  him  under  a  grammarian  at  Florence 
named  Francesco  da  Urbino))  It  does  not  appear, 
however,  that  he  learned  more  than  reading  and 
writing  in  Italian,  for  later  on  in  life  we  find  him 

*  Vasari,  xii.  p.  159. 


lo  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

complaining  that  he  knew  no  Latin. ^  ;  The  boy's 
genius  attracted  him  irresistibly  to  art.  lie  spent 
all  his  leisure  time  in  drawing,  and  frequented  the 
society  of  youths  who  were  apprenticed  to  masters 
in  painting  and  sculpture.  Among  these  he  con- 
tracted an  intimate  friendship  with  Francesco 
Granacci,  at  that  time  in  the  workshop  of  Domenico 
Ghirlandajo.  Granacci  used  to  lend  him  drawings 
by  Ghirlandajo,  and  inspired  him  with  the  resolu- 
tion to  become  a  practical  artist.  Condivi  says  that 
*'  Francesco's  influence,  combined  with  the  continual 
craving  of  his  nature,  made  him  at  last  abandon 
literary  studies.  This  brought  the  boy  into  dis- 
favour with  his  father  and  uncles,  who  often  used 
to  beat  him  severely;  for  being  insensible  to  the 
excellence  and  nobility  of  Art,  they  thought  it 
shameful  to  give  her  shelter  in  their  house.  Never- 
theless, albeit  their  opposition  caused  him  the 
greatest  sorrow,  it  was  not  sufiicient  to  deter  him 
from  his  steady  purpose.  On  the  contrary,  growing 
even  bolder,  he  determined  to  work  in  colours."* 
Condivi,  whose  narrative  preserves  for  us  Michel- 
angelo's own  recollections  of  his  youthful  years, 
refers  to  this  period  the  painted  copy  made  by  the 
young  draughtsman  from  a  copper-plate  of  Martin 
Schongauer.     We  should  probably  be  right  in  sup- 

^  This  we  gather  from  Donate  Gianuotti's  Dialogue  De'  giorni  che 
Dante  consumdy  etc.  Firenze,  Tip.  Gal.,  1859.  Also  in  15 18,  when 
the  members  of  the  Florentine  Academy  sent  a  petition  to  Leo  X.  about 
the  bones  of  Dante,  he  alone  signed  in  Italian. 

'  Condiyi^p.^. 


EARLY   iENTHUSIASM   FOR   ART.  ii 

posing  that  the  anecdote  is  slightly  antedated. 
I  give  it,  however,  as  nearly  as  possible  in  the 
biographer's  own  words.  **  Granacci  happened 
to  show  him  a  print  of  S.  Antonio  tormented 
by  the  devils.  This  was  the  work  of  Martino 
d*01anda,  a  good  artist  for  the  times  in  which  he 
lived ;  and  Michelangelo  transferred  the  composi- 
tion to  a  panel.^  Assisted  by  the  same  friend  with 
colours  and  brushes,  he  treated  his  subject  in  so 
masterly  a  way  that  it  excited  surprise  in  all  who 
saw  it,  and  even  envy,  as  some  say,  in  Domenico, 
the  greatest  painter  of  his  age.  In  order  to  diminish 
the  extraordinary  impression  produced  by  this  pic- 
ture, Ghirlandajo  went  about  saying  that  it  came 
out  of  his  own  workshop,  as  though  he  had  some 
part  in  the  performance.  While  engaged  on  this 
piece,  which,  beside  the  figure  of  the  saint,  contained 
.many  strange  forms  and  diabolical  monstrosities, 
Michelangelo  coloured  no  particular  without  going 
first  to  Nature  and  comparing  her  truth  with  his 
fancies.  Thus  he  used  to  frequent  the  fish-market, 
and  study  the  shape  and  hues  of  fishes'  fins,  the 
colour  of  their  eyes,  and  so  forth  in  the  case  of  every 
part  belonging  to  them  ;  all  of  which  details  he 
reproduced  with  the  utmost  diligence  in  his  paint- 
ing.\£)  Whether  this  transcript  from  Schongauer 
was  made  as  early  as   Condivi  reports   may,   as  I 

^  See  Grimm,  vol.  i.  p.  542,  for  notes  upon  the  pictures  from  Schon- 
gauer's  copper-plate,  now  in  the  possession  of  the  Bianconi  family  at 
Bologna  and  Baron  Triqueti  in  Paris. 

'  Condivi^  p.  «;. 


12  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

have  said,  be  reasonably  doubted.  The  anecdote  is 
interesting,  however,  as  showing  in  what  a  natural- 
istic spirit  Michelangelo  began  to  work.  The  un- 
limited mastery  which  he  acquired  over  form,  and 
which  certainly  seduced  him  at  the  close  of  his 
career  into  a  stylistic  mannerism,  was  based  in  the 
first  instance  upon  profound  and  patient  interroga- 
tion of  reality. 


IV. 

Lodovico  perceived  at  length  that  it  was  useless 
to  oppose  his  son's  natural  bent.  Accordingly,  he 
fsent  him  into  Ghirlandajo's  workshop.  A  minute 
from  Ghirlandajo's  ledger,  under  the  date  1488, 
gives  information  regarding  the  terms  of  the  ap- 
prenticeship. "I  record  this  first  of  April  how  I, 
Lodovico  di  Lionardo  di  Buonarrota,  bind  my  son 
Michelangelo  to  Domenico  and  Davit  di  Tommaso 
di  Currado^  for  the  next  three  ensuing  years, 
under  these  conditions  and  contracts :  to  wit,  that 
the  said  Michelangelo  shall  stay  with  the  above- 
named  masters  during  this  time,  to  learn  the  art  of 
painting,  and  to  practise  the  same,  and  to  be  at  the 
orders  of  the  above-named  ;  and  they,  for  their  part, 
shall  give  to  him  in  the  course  of  these  three  years 

1  That  was  the  family  name  of  the  famous  Ghirlandajo,  so  called 
because  he  made  the  garlands  of  golden  leaves  which  Florentine 
women  wore. 


GHIRLANDAJO'S   WORKSHOP.  13 

twenty-four  florins  (jiorini  di  suggello) :  to  wit,  six 
florins  in  the  first  year,  eight  in  the  second,  ten  in 
the  third ;  making  in  all  the  sum  of  ninety -six 
pounds  [lire),"  A  postscript,  dated  April  i6th  of 
the  same  year,  1488,  records  that  two  florins  were 
paid  to  Michelangelo  upon  that  day.^ 

It  seems  that  Michelangelo  retained  no  very 
pleasant  memory  of  his  sojourn  with  the  Ghirlan- 
dajo  brothers.  Condivi,  in  the  passage  translated 
above,  hints  that  Domenico  was  jealous  of  him.  He 
proceeds  as  follows :  "  This  jealousy  betrayed  itself 
still  more  when  Michelangelo  once  begged  the  loan 
of  a  certain  sketch-book,  wherein  Domenico  had 
portrayed  shepherds  with  their  flocks  and  watch- 
dogs, landscapes,  buildings,  ruins,  and  such-like 
things.  The  master  refused  to  lend  it ;  and  indeed 
he  had  the  fame  of  being  somewhat  envious ;  for 
not  only  showed  he  thus  scant  courtesy  toward 
Michelangelo,  but  he  also  treated  his  brother  like- 
wise, sending  him  into  France  when  he  saw  that 
he  was  making  progress  and  putting  forth  great 
.promise ;  and  doing  this  not  so  much  for  any  profit 
to  David,  as  that  he  might  himself  remain  the  first 
of  Florentine  painters.  I  have  thought  fit  to  men- 
tion  these  things,  because  I   have  been  told  that 

^  The  Ricordo  translated  above  was  published  by  Vasari  (xii.  160). 
He  says  that  it  was  shown  him  by  Gh^'rlandajo's  heirs,  in  order  to 
prove  tiiat  the  master  was  not  envious  or  unhelpful  to  his  pupil.  Of 
course  it  does  not  prove  anything  of  the  kind.  It  is  only  a  common 
record  of  apprenticeship.  Gotti  (p.  6,  note)  reckons  the  pay  promised 
at  fr.  206.40  of  present  value. 


■'vi 


14  LIFE  OF  MICHELANGELO. 

Domenico's  son  is  wont  to  ascribe  the  genius  and 
divinity  of  Michelangelo  in  great  part  to  his  father's 
teaching,  whereas  the  truth  is  that  he  received  no 
assistance  from  that  master.  I  ought,  however,  to 
add  that  Michelangelo  does  not  complain  :  on  the 
contrary,  he  praises  Domenico  both  as  artist  and 
as  man."^ 
1^.  This  passage  irritated  Vasari  beyond  measure. 
He  had  written  his  first  Life  of  Michelangelo  in 
1550.  Condivi  published  his  own  modest  biography 
in  1553,  with  the  expressed  intention  of  correcting 
errors  and  supplying  deficiencies  made  by  "  others," 
under  which  vague  word  he  pointed  probably  at 
Vasari.  Michelangelo,  who  furnished  Condivi  with 
materials,  died  in  1564 ;  and  Vasari,  in  1568,  issued 
a  second  enlarged  edition  of  the  Life,  into  which  he 
cynically  incorporated  what  he  chose  to  steal  from 
Condivi's  sources.  The  supreme  Florentine  sculptor 
being  dead  and  buried,  Vasari  felt  that  he  was  safe 
in  giving  the  lie  direct  to  this  humble  rival  bio- 
grapher. Accordingly,  he  spoke  as  follows  about 
Michelangelo's  relations  with  Domenico  Ghirlandajo  : 
/  **He  was  fourteen  years  of  age  when  he  entered 
!  that  master's  service,^  and  inasmuch  as  one  (Con- 
divi), who  composed  his  biography  after  1550,  when 
I  had  published  these  Lives  for  the  first  time,  de- 
clares that  certain  persons,  from  want  of  familiarity 

^  Condivi,  pp.  5,  6. 

'^  As  Michelangelo  was  born  March  6,  1475,  and  as  the  indenture 
of  apprenticeship  proves  that  he  went  to  Ghirlandajo,  April  i,  1488,  he 
must  have  been  rather  less  than  thirteen  years  and  one  month  old. 


CONDIVI   AND   VASARI.  15 

with  Michelangelo,  have  recorded  things  that  did 
not  happen,  and  have  omitted  others  worthy  of  rela- 
tion ;  and  in  particular  has  touched  upon  the  point 
at  issue,  accusing  Domenico  of  envy,  and  saying  that 

he  never  rendered  Michelangelo  assistance." Here 

Vasari,  out  of  breath  with  indignation,  appeals  to 
the  record  of  Lodovico's  contract  with  the  Ghir- 
landajo  brothers.  "  These  minutes,"  he  goes  on  to 
say,  *'  I  copied  from  the  ledger,  in  order  to  show 
that  everything  I  formerly  published,  or  which  will 
be  published  at  the  present  time,  is  truth.  Nor 
am  I  acquainted  with  any  one  who  had  greater  fami- 
liarity with  Michelangelo  than  I  had,  or  who  served 
him  more  faithfully  in  friendly  offices  ;  nor  do  I 
believe  that  a  single  man  could  exhibit  a  larger 
number  of  letters  written  with  his  own  hand,  or 
evincing  greater  personal  affection,  than  I  can."  ^ 

This  contention  between  Condivi  and  Vasari,  our 
two  contemporary  authorities  upon  the  facts  of 
Michelangelo's  life,  may  not  seem  to  be  a  matter  of 
great  moment  for  his  biographer  after  the  lapse  of 
four  centuries.  Yet  the  first  steps  in  the  art-career 
of  so  exceptional  a  genius  possess  peculiar  interest. 
It  is  not  insignificant  to  ascertain,  so  far  as  now  is 
possible,  what  Michelangelo  owed  to  his  teachers. 
In  equity,  we  acknowledge  that  Lodovico's  record 
on  the  ledger  of  the  Ghirlandajo  brothers  proves 
their  willingness  to  take  him  as  a  prentice,  and 
their  payment  to   him  of  two  florins  in  advance; 

*  Vasari,  xii.  p.  160, 


1 6  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

but  the  same  record  does  not  disprove  Condivi's 
statement,  derived  from  his  old  master's  remini- ' 
scences,  to  the  effect  that  Domenico  Ghirlandajo 
was  in  no  way  greatly  serviceable  to  him  as  an 
instructor.  The  fault,  in  all  probability,  did  not 
lie  with  Ghirlandajo  alone.  Michelangelo,  as  we 
shall  have  occasions  in  plenty  to  observe,  was 
difficult  to  live  with ;  frank  in  speech  to  the  point 
of  rudeness,  ready  with  criticism,  incapable  of 
governing  his  temper,  and  at  no  time  apt  to  work 
harmoniously  with  fellow- craftsmen.  His  extra- 
ordinary force  and  originality  of  genius  made  them- 
selves felt,  undoubtedly,  at  the  very  outset  of  his 
career ;  and  Ghirlandajo  may  be  excused  if,  with- 
out being  positively  jealous  of  the  young  eagle 
settled  in  his  homely  nest,  he  failed  to  do  the 
utmost  for  this  gifted  and  rough-natured  child  of 
promise.  Beethoven's  discontent  with  Haydn  as  a 
teacher  offers  a  parallel ;  and  sympathetic  students 
of  psychology  will  perceive  that  Ghirlandajo  and 
Haydn  were  almost  superfluous  in  the  training 
of  phenomenal  natures  like  Michelangelo  and 
Beethoven. 

Vasari,   passing  from   controversy  to    the    gossip 
of  the   studio,  has   sketched  a  pleasant  picture   of 

.  the    young    Buonarroti    in     his    master's    employ. 

I  "The  artistic  and  personal  qualities  of  Michelangelo 
developed  so  rapidly  that  Domenico  was  astounded 
by  signs  of  power  in  him  beyond  the  ordinary 
scope  of  youth.  \   He   perceived,   in  short,  that  he 

I 


WORK   DONE   UNDER  GHIRLANDAJO.  17 

lot  only  surpassed  the  other  students,  of  whom 
irhirlandajo  had  a  large  number  under  his  tuition, 
ut  also  that  he  often  competed  on  an  equality 
dth  the  master.  One  of  the  lads  who  worked 
tiere  made  a  pen-drawing  of  some  women,  clothed, 
com  a  design  of  Ghirlandajo.  Michelangelo  took 
p  the  paper,  and  with  a  broader  nib  corrected  the 
utline  of  a  female  figure,  so  as  to  bring  it  into 
erfect  truth  to  life.  Wonderful  it  was  to  see  the 
ifference  of  the  two  styles,  and  to  note  the  judg- 
lent  and  ability  of  a  mere  boy,  so  spirited  and 
old,  who  tfad  the  courage  to  chastise  his  master's 
andiwork  1'  This  drawing  I  now  preserve  as  a 
recious  relique,  since  it  was  given  me  by  Granacci, 
hat  it  might  take  a  place  in  my  Book  of  Original 
)esigns,  together  with  others  presented  to  me  by 
/lichelangelo.  In  the  year  1550,  when  I  was  in 
lome,  I  Giorgio  showed  it  to  Michelangelo,  who 
ecognised  it  immediately,  and  was  pleased  to  see 
t  again,  observing  modestly  that  he  knew  more 
bout  the  art  when  he  was  a  child  than  now  in 
lis  old  age. 

"  It  happened  then  that  Domenico  was  engaged 
ipon  the  great  Chapel  of  S.  Maria  Novella  ;  ^  and 
leing  absent  one  day,  Michelangelo  set  himself  to 
[raw  from  nature  the  whole  scaffolding,  with  some 
asels  and    all  the  appurtenances  of  the  art,   and 

^  The  frescoes  in  the  choir.     These  excellent  works  of  Florentine 
'esign  formed  Michelangelo's  earliest  school  in  art,  and  what  he  after- 
ards  achieved  in  fresco  must  have  mainly  been  learned  there. 

VOL.   I.  B 


« 


i8  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

a  few  of  the  young  men  at  work  there.  When 
Domenico  returned  and  saw  the  drawing,  he  ex- 
claimed :  *  This  fellow  knows  more  about  it  than 
I  do,'  and  remained  quite  stupefied  by  the  new 
style  and  the  new  method  of  imitation,  which  a 
boy  of  years  so  tender  had  received  as  a  gift  from 
heaven."  ^ 

Both  Coudivi  and  Vasari  relate  that,  during  his 
apprenticeship  to  Ghirlandajo,  Michelangelo  demon- 
strated his  technical  ability  by  producing  perfect 
copies  of  ancient  drawings,  executing  the  facsimile 
with  consummate  truth  of  line,  and  then  dirtying 
the  paper  so  as  to  pass  it  off  as  the  original  of 
some  old  master.^  **  His  only  object,"  adds  Vasari, 
*'  was  to  keep  the  originals,  by  giving  copies  in 
exchange;  seeing  that  he  admired  them  as  speci- 
mens of  art,  and  sought  to  surpass  them  by  his 
own  handling ;  and  in  doing  this  he  acquired  great 
renown."  We  may  pause  to  doubt  whether  at  the 
present  time — in  the  case,  for  instance,  of  Shelley 
letters  or  Rossetti  drawings — clever  forgeries  would 
be  accepted  as  so  virtuous  and  laudable.  But  it 
ought  to  be  remembered  that  a  Florentine  workshop 
at  that  period  contained  masses  of  accumulated 
designs,  all  of  which  were  more  or  less  the  common 
property  of  the  painting  firm.  No  single  specimen 
possessed  a  high  market  value.  It  was,  in  fact, 
only  when  art  began  to  expire  in  Italy,  when  Vasari 
published  his   extensive  necrology  and  formed  his 

1  Vasari,  xii.  p.  i6i  ^  Condivi,  p.  6  ;  Vasari,  p.  162. 


THE   MEDICEAN   GARDENS.  19 

Famous  collection  of  drawings,  that  property  in  a 
isketch  became  a  topic  for  moral  casuistry. 

Of  Michelangelo's  own  work  at  this  early  period 
me  possess  probably  nothing  except  a  rough  scrawl 
Dn  the  plaster  of  a  wall  at  Settignano.  Even  this 
does  not  exist  in  its  original  state.  The  Satyr  which 
is  still  shown  there  may,  according  to  Mr.  Heath 
Wilson's  suggestion,  be  a  rifacimento  from  the  mas- 
ter's hand  at  a  subsequent  period  of  his  career.^ 


V. 

Condivi  and  Vasari  differ  considerably  in  their 
iccounts  of  Michelangelo's  departure  from  Ghir- 
andajo's  workshop.  The  former  writes  as  follows  : 
*So  then  the  boy,  now  drawing  one  thing  and 
low  another,  without  fixed  place  or  steady  line  of 
jtudy,  happened  one  day  to  be  taken  by  Granacci 
nto  the  garden  of  the  Medici  at  San  Marco,  which 
jarden  the  magnificent  Lorenzo,  father  of  Pope  Leo, 
md  a  man  of  the  first  intellectual  distinction,  had 
idorned  with^  antique  statues  and  other  reliques  of 
)lastic  art.  When  Michelangelo  saw  these  things 
md  felt  their  beauty,  he  no  longer  frequented 
Domenico's  shop,  nor  did  he  go  elsewhere,  but, 
udging  the  Medicean  gardens  to  be  the  best  school, 
jpent  all  his  time  and  faculties  in  working  there."  1 

1  Heath  Wilson,  p.  10.  ^  Condivi,  p.  7.  / 


20  LIFE  OF   MICHELANGELO. 

Vasari  reports  that  it  was  Lorenzo's  wish  to  raise 
the  art  of  sculpture  in  Florence  to  the  same  level 
as  that  of  painting ;  and  for  this  reason  he  placed! 
Bertoldo,  a  pupil  and  follower  of  Donatello,  over 
his  collections,  with  a  special  commission  to  aid  and 
instruct  the  young  men  who  used  them.  With  the 
same  intention  of  forming  an  academy  or  school  of 
art,  Lorenzo  went  to  Ghirlandajo,  and  begged  him 
to  select  from  his  pupils  those  whom  he  considered 
the  most  promising.  Ghirlandajo  accordingly  drafted 
off  Francesco  Granacci  and  Michelangelo  Buonarroti.^ 
Since  Michelangelo  had  been  formally  articled  by 
his  father  to  Ghirlandajo  in  1488,  he  can  hardly 
have  left  that  master  in  1489  as  unceremoniously  as 
Condivi  asserts.  Therefore  we  may,  I  think,  assume 
that  Vasari  upon  this  point  has  preserved  the  gen- 
uine tradition. 

/  Having  first  studied  the  art  of  design  and  learned 
to  work  in  colours  under  the  supervision  of  Ghir- 
landajo, Michelangelo  now  had  his  native  genius 
directed  to  sculpture.  He  began  with  the  rudiments 
of  stone-hewing,  blocking  out  marbles  designed 
for  the  Library  of  San  Lorenzo,^  and  acquiring  that 
practical  skill  in  the  manipulation  of  the  chisel 
which  he  exercised  all  through  his  life.  Condivi 
and  Vasari  agree  in  relating  that  a  copy  he  made 

1  Vasari,  xii.  162. 

2  Coodivi,  p.  7.  Lorenzo  very  likely  intended  to  build  a  house  for  his 
own  and  his  father  Cosimo's  unrivalled  collection  of  manuscripts.  The 
design  was  carried  out  in  after-years  by  Pope  Clement  VII.,  who  selected 
a  spot  at  San  Lorenzo  for  the  purpose. 


STORY   OF   THE   FAUN'S   MASK.  21 

br  his  own  amusement  from  an  antique  Faun  first 
lirought  him  into  favourable  notice  with  Lorenzo, 
rhe  boy  had  begged  a  piece  of  refuse  marble,  and 
arved  a  grinning  mask,  which  he  was  polishing 
rhen  the  Medici  passed  by.  The  great  man  stopped 
0  examine  the  work,  and  recognised  its  merit.  At  the 
ame  time  he  observed  with  characteristic  geniality : 
'Oh,  you  have  made  this  Faun  quite  old,  and  yet 
Lave  left  him  all  his  teeth !  Do  you  not  know  that 
aen  of  that  great  age  are  always  wanting  in  one  or 
wo  ? "  Michelangelo  took  the  hint,  and  knocked 
tooth  out  from  the  upper  jaw.  When  Lorenzo  saw 
low  cleverly  he  had  performed  the  task,  he  resolved 
0  provide  for  the  boy's  future  and  to  take  him  into 
lis  own  household.  So,  having  heard  whose  son 
le  was,  "  Go,"  he  said,  **  and  tell  your  father  that  I 
rish  to  speak  with  him." 

A  mask  of  a  grinning  Faun  may  still  be  seen  in 
he  sculpture-gallery  of  the  Bargello  at  Florence, 
.nd  the  marble  is  traditionally  assigned  to  Michel- 
angelo. It  does  not  exactly  correspond  to  the  account 
jiven  by  Condivi  and  Vasari ;  for  the  mouth  shows 
mly  two  large  tusk-like  teeth,  with  the  tip  of  the 
ongue  protruding  between  them.  Still  there  is  no 
eason  to  feel  certain  that  we  may  not  have  here 
vlichelangelo's  first  extant  work  in  marble. 

"  Michelangelo  accordingly  went  home,  and  deli- 
ered  the  message  of  the  Magnificent.  His  father, 
guessing  probably  what  he  was  wanted  for,  could 
>nly  be  persuaded  by  the  urgent  prayers  of  Granacci 


22  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

and  other  friends  to  obey  the  summons.  Indeed, 
he  complained  loudly  that  Lorenzo  wanted  to  lead 
his  son  astray,  abiding  firmly  by  the  principle  that  he 
would  never  permit  a  son  of  his  to  be  a  stone-cutter. 
Vainly  did  Granacci  explain  the  difference  between 
a  sculptor  and  a  stone-cutter :  all  his  arguments 
seemed  thrown  away.  Nevertheless,  when  Lodovico 
appeared  before  the  Magnificent,  and  was  asked  if 
he  would  consent  to  give  his  son  up  to  the  great 
man's  guardianship,  he  did  not  know  how  to  refuse, 
*  In  faith,'  he  added,  '  not  Michelangelo  alone,  but 
all  of  us,  with  our  lives  and  all  our  abilities,  are  at 
the  pleasure  of  your  Magnificence  ! '  When  Lorenzo 
asked  what  he  desired  as  a  favour  to  himself,  he 
answered  :  *  I  have  never  practised  any  art  or  trade, 
but  have  lived  thus  far  upon  my  modest  income, 
attending  to  the  little  property  in  land  which  has 
come  down  from  my  ancestors ;  and  it  has  been 
my  care  not  only  to  preserve  these  estates,  but  to 
increase  them  so  far  as  I  was  able  by  my  industry.' 
The  Magnificent  then  added  :  '  Well,  look  about,  and 
see  if  there  be  anything  in  Florence  which  will  suit 
you.  Make  use  of  me,  for  I  will  do  the  utmost  that 
I  can  for  you.'  It  so  happened  that  a  place  in  the 
Customs,  which  could  only  be  filled  by  a  Florentine 
citizen,  fell  vacant  shortly  afterwards.  Upon  this 
Lodovico  returned  to  the  Magnificent,  and  begged 
for  it  in  these  words  :  '  Lorenzo,  I  am  good  for 
nothing  but  reading  and  writing.  Now,  the  mate  of 
Marco  Pucci  in  the  Customs  having  died,  I  should 


LORENZO   DE'   MEDICI.  23 

ike  to  enter  into  this  office,  feeling  myself  able  to 
alfil  its  duties  decently/  The  Magnificent  laid  his 
land  upon  his  shoulder,  and  said  with  a  smile : 
You  will  always  be  a  poor  man ; '  for  he  expected 
lim  to  ask  for  something  far  more  valuable.  Then 
le  added :  *  If  you  care  to  be  the  mate  of  Marco, 
rou  can  take  the  post,  until  such  time  as  a  better 
|)ecomes  vacant'  It  was  worth  eight  crowns  the 
nonth,  a  little  more  or  a  little  less."^  A  document 
s  extant  which  shows  that  Lodovico  continued  to 
ill  this  office  at  the  Customs  till  1494,  when  the 
leirs  of  Lorenzo  were  exiled  ;  for  in  the  year  1 5 1 2, 
ifter  the  Medici  returned  to  Florence,  he  applied  to 
jiuliano,  Duke  of  Nemours,  to  be  reinstated  in 
he  same.^ 

If  it  is  true,  as  Vasari  asserts,  that  Michelangelo 
quitted  Ghirlandajo  in  1489,  and  if  Condivi  is  right 
in  saying  that  he  only  lived  in  the  Casa  Medici  for 
ibout  two  years  before  the  death  of  Lorenzo,  April 
[492,  then  he  must  have  spent  some  twelve  months 
ivorking  in  the  gardens  at  San  Marco  before  the 
iFaun's  mask  called  attention  to  his  talents.  His 
whole  connection  with  Lorenzo,  from  the  spring  of 
1489  to  the  spring  of  1492,  lasted  three  years;  and, 
since  he  was  born  in  March  1475,  ^^^  space  of  his 
life  covered  by  this  patronage  extended  from  the 
commencement  of  his  fifteenth  to  the  commence- 
ment of  his  eighteenth  year. 

^  Condivi,  pp.  8-10. 

2  The  original  is  given  by  Gotti,  vol,  ii.  p.  31. 


24  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

These  three  years  were  decisive  for  the  develop- 
ment of  his  mental  faculties  and  special  artistic 
genius.  It  is  not  necessary  to  enlarge  here  upon 
Lorenzo  de'  Medici's  merits  and  demerits,  either  as 
the  ruler  of  Florence  or  as  the  central  figure  in 
the  history  of  the  Italian  Renaissance.  These  have 
supplied  stock  topics  for  discussion  by  all  writers 
who  have  devoted  their  attention  to  that  period  of 
culture.  Still  we  must  remember  that  Michelangelo 
enjoyed  singular  privileges  under  the  roof  of  one 
who  was  not  only  great  as  diplomatist  and  politician, 
and  princely  in  his  patronage,  but  was  also  a  man  of 
original  genius  in  literature,  of  fine  taste  in  criticism, 
and  of  civic  urbanity  in  manners.  The  palace  of 
the  Medici  formed  a  museum,  at  that  period  unique, 
considering  the  number  and  value  of  its  art  treasures 
— bas-reliefs,  vases,  coins,  engraved  stones,  paintings 
by  the  best  contemporary  masters,  statues  in  bronze 
and  marble  by  Verocchio  and  Donatello.  Its  library 
contained  the  costliest  manuscripts,  collected  from 
all  quarters  of  Europe  and  the  Levant.  The  guests 
who  assembled  in  its  halls  were  leaders  in  that 
intellectual  movement  which  was  destined  to  spread 
a  new  type  of  culture  far  and  wide  over  the  globe. 
The  young  sculptor  sat  at  the  same  board  as  Marsilio 
Ficino,  interpreter  of  Plato ;  Pico  della  Mirandola, 
the  phoenix  of  Oriental  erudition  ;  Angelo  Poliziano, 
the  unrivalled  humanist  and  melodious  Italian  poet ; 
Luigi  Pulci,  the  humorous  inventor  of  burlesque 
romance — with  artists,   scholars,   students  innumer- 


THE   MEDICEAN   PALACE.  25 

ble,  all  in  their  own  departments  capable  of  satisfy- 
ing a  youth's  curiosity,  by  explaining  to  him  the 
)articular  virtues  of  books  discussed,  or  of  antique 
vorks  of  art  inspected.  During  those  halcyon  years, 
)efore  the  invasion  of  Charles  YIII.,  it  seemed  as 
hough  the  peace  of  Italy  might  last  unbroken.  No 
me  foresaw  the  apocalyptic  vials  of  wrath  which 
vere  about  to  be  poured  forth  upon  her  plains  and 
•ities  through  the  next  half- century.  Earely,  at 
ny  period  of  the  world's  history,  perhaps  only  in 
Uhens  between  the  Persian  and  the  Peloponnesian 
vars,  has  culture,  in  the  highest  and  best  sense  of 
hat  word,  prospered  more  intelligently  and  pacific- 
illy  than  it  did  in  the  Florence  of  Lorenzo,  through 
he  co-operation  and  mutual  zeal  of  men  of  emin- 
ence, inspired  by  common  enthusiasms,  and  labour- 
ng  in  diverse  though  cognate  fields  of  study  and 
)roduction. 

Michelangelo's  position  in  the  house  was  that  of 
in  honoured  guest  or  adopted  son.  Lorenzo  not 
)nly  allowed  him  five  ducats  a  month  by  way  of 
)ocket-money,  together  with  clothes  befitting  his 
itation,  but  he  also,  says  Condivi,  "  appointed  him 
L  good  room  in  the  palace,  together  with  all  the 
;onveniences  he  desired,  treating  him  in  every  re- 
ipect,  as  also  at  his  table,  precisely  like  one  of  his 
)wn  sons.  It  was  the  custom  of  this  household, 
vhere  men  of  the  noblest  birth  and  highest  public 
•ank  assembled  round  the  daily  board,  for  the  guests 
,0  take  their  places  next  the  master  in  the  order 


26  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

of  their  arrival;  those  who  were  present  at  the 
beginning  of  the  meal  sat,  each  according  to  his 
degree,  next  the  Magnificent,  not  moving  afterwards 
for  any  one  who  might  appear.  So  it  happened 
that  Michelangelo  found  himself  frequently  seated 
above  Lorenzo's  children  and  other  persons  of  great 
consequence,  with  whom  that  house  continually 
flourished  and  abounded.  All  these  illustrious  men 
paid  him  particular  attention,  and  encouraged  him 
in  the  honourable  art  which  he  had  chosen.  But 
the  chief  to  do  so  was  the  Magnificent  himself,  who 
sent  for  him  oftentimes  in  a  day,  in  order  that  he 
might  show  him  jewels,  cornelians,  medals,  and  such- 
like objects  of  great  rarity,  as  knowing  him  to  be 
of  excellent  parts  and  judgment  in  these  things."^ 
It  does  not  appear  that  Michelangelo  had  any  duties 
to  perform  or  services  to  render.  Probably  his 
patron  employed  him  upon  some  useful  work  of  the 
kind  suggested  by  Condivi.  But  the  main  business 
of  his  life  in  the  Casa  Medici  was  to  make  himself 
a  valiant  sculptor,  who  in  after-years  should  confer 
lustre  on  the  city  of  the  lily  and  her  Medicean 
masters.  What  he  produced  during  this  period 
seems  to  have  become  his  own  property,  for  two 
pieces  of  statuary,  presently  to  be  described,  re- 
mained in  the  possession  of  his  family,  and  now 
form  a  part  of  the  collection  in  the  Casa  Buonarroti. 

^  Condivi,  p.  9. 


CENTAUR   BAS-RELIEF.  27 


VI 

Angelo    Poliziano,   who   was   certainly  the  chief 
cholar  of  his  age  in  the  new  learning,  and  no  less 
ertainly   one   of   its    truest    poets    in   the   vulgar 
language,  lived  as  tutor  to  Lorenzo's  children  in  the 
)alace  of  the  Medici  at  Florence.     Benozzo  Gozzoli 
ntroduced  his  portrait,  together  with  the  portraits 
)f  his  noble  pupils,  in  a  fresco  of  the  Pisan  Campo 
5anto.      This    prince    of   humanists    recommended 
Michelangelo  to  treat  in  bas-relief  an  antique  fable, 
nvolving  the  strife  of  young  heroes  for  some  woman's 
oerson.^    Probably  he  was  also  able  to  point  out  clas- 
sical examples  by  which  the  boyish  sculptor  might 
3e  guided  in  the  undertaking.     The   subject  made 
enormous  demands  upon  his  knowledge  of  the  nude. 
^Ldult  and  youthful  figures,  in  attitudes  of  vehement 
ittack  and  resistance,  had  to  be  modelled ;  and  the 
conditions  of  the  myth  required  that  one  at  least  of 

1  Condivi  tells  us  that  this  composition  represented  "the  rape  of 
Deianeira  and  the  battle  of  the  Centaurs."  Critics  have  attempted  to 
ind  in  it  the  legend  of  the  Centaurs  and  the  Lapithse,  also  the  story  of 
Serakles  and  Eurytion.  The  subject  has  been  ably  discussed  by  Josef 
Strzygowski  in  Jahrbuch  der  K,  Fr.  Kunstsammlungen,  vol.  xii.  Heft  4, 
[891.  It  may  be  assumed,  I  think,  that  the  central  figure  in  the 
rroup  of  combatants  is  meant  for  a  woman.  Obeying  some  deep  instinct 
)f  his  nature,  the  youthful  Michelangelo  gave  to  this  female  form  attri- 
butes which  render  it  scarcely  distinguishable  from  the  adolescent  male, 
rhe  details  of  the  bas-relief,  however,  are  such  as  to  make  it  uncertain 
Nrhat  particular  episode  of  the  Heraklean  myth  he  chose  to  represent. 


28  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

them  should  be  brought  into  harmony  with  equine 
forms.  Michelangelo  wrestled  vigorously  with  these 
difficulties.  He  produced  a  work  which,  though  it 
is  imperfect  and  immature,  brings  to  light  the  specific' 
qualities  of  his  inherent  art-capacity.  The  bas-relief, 
still  preserved  in  the  Casa  Buonarroti  at  Florence, 
is,  so  to  speak,  in  fermentation  with  powerful  half- 
realised  conceptions,  audacities  of  foreshortening, 
attempts  at  intricate  grouping,  violent  dramatic 
action  and  expression.  No  previous  tradition,  unless 
it  was  the  genius  of  Greek  or  Grseco-Roman  an- 
tiquity, supplied  Michelangelo  with  the  motive  force 
for  this  prentice-piece  in  sculpture.  Donatello  and 
other  Florentines  worked  under  different  sympathies 
for  form,  affecting  angularity  in  their  treatment  of 
the  nude,  adhering  to  literal  transcripts  from  the; 
model  or  to  conventional  stylistic  schemes.  Michel^ 
angelo  discarded  these  limitations,  and  showed  him- 
self an  ardent  student  of  reality  in  the  service  of 
some  lofty  intellectual  ideal.  Following  and  closely 
observing  Nature,  he  was  also  sensitive  to  the  light 
and  guidance  of  the  classic  genius.  Yet,  at  the 
same  time,  he  violated  the  aesthetic  laws  obeyed 
by  that  genius,  displaying  his  Tuscan  proclivities  by 
violent  dramatic  suggestions,  and  in  loaded,  over- 
complicated composition.  Thus,  in  this  highly 
interesting  essay,  the  horoscope  of  the  mightiest 
Florentine  artist  was  already  cast.  Nature  leads 
him,  and  he  follows  Nature  as  his  own  star  bids. 
But  that  star  is  double,  blending  classic  influence 


< 

O 

o 

I— t 


/ 


MADONNA   IN   BAS-RELIEF.  29 

vith  Tuscan  instinct.  The  roof  of  the  Sistine  was 
lestined  to  exhibit  to  an  awe- struck  world  what 
wealths  of  originality  lay  in  the  artist  thus  gifted, 
md  thus  swayed  by  rival  forces.  For  the  present,  it 
aay  be  enough  to  remark  that,  in  the  geometrical 
)roportions  of  this  bas-relief,  which  is  too  high  for 
ts  length,  Michelangelo  revealed  imperfect  feeling  ^ 
or  antique  principles;  while,  in  the  grouping  of 
he  figures,  which  is  more  pictorial  than  sculptur- 
esque, he  already  betrayed,  what  remained  with  him 
L  defect  through  life,  a  certain  want  of  organic  or 
ymmetrical  design  in  compositions  which  are  not 
igidly  subordinated  to  architectural  framework  or 
imited  to  the  sphere  of  an  intaglio} 

Vasari  mentions  another  bas-relief  in  marble  as 
)elonging  to  this  period,  which,  from  its  style,  we 
nay,  I  think,  believe  to  have  been  designed  earlier 
ihan  the  Centaurs.  It  is  a  seated  Madonna  with  the 
infant  Jesus,  conceived  in  the  manner  of  Donatello, 
)ut  without  that  master's  force  and  power  over  the 
ines  of  drapery.  Except  for  the  interest  attaching  to 
t  as  an  early  work  of  Michelangelo,  this  piece  would 
lot  attract  much  attention.  Vasari  praises  it  for  grace 
,nd  composition  above  the  scope  of  Donatello ;  and 
jertainly  we  may  trace  here  the  first  germ  of  that 
iweet  and  winning  majesty  which  Buonarroti  was 
lestined  to  develop  in  his  Pietk  of  S.   Peter,  the 

1  What  I  mean  will  be  felt  after  a  due  consideration  of  the  cartoon 
or  the  Battle  of  Pisa  in  the  extant  copy  of  that  work.  It  appears  in 
he  frescoes  of  the  Pauline  Chapel  of  the  Vatican,  as  well  as  in  a  large 
rariety  of  original  drawings. 


30  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

Madonna  at  Bruges,  and  the  even  more  gloriousi 
Madonna  of  S.  Lorenzo.  It  is  also  interesting  fori 
the  realistic  introduction  of  a  Tuscan  cottage  stair- 
case into  the  background.  This  bas-relief  was  pre- 
sented to  Cosimo  de'  Medici,  first  Grand-Duke  of 
Tuscany,  by  Michelangelo's  nephew  Lionardo.  It 
afterwards  came  back  into  the  possession  of  the 
Buonarroti  family,  and  forms  at  present  an  ornament 
of  their  house  at  Florence. 


VII. 


We  are  accustomed  to  think  of  Michelangelo  as  a 
self- withdrawn  and  solitary  worker,  living  for  his  art, 
avoiding  the  conflict  of  society,  immersed  in  sublime 
imaginings.  On  the  whole,  this  is  a  correct  concep- 
tion of  the  man.  Many  passages  of  his  biography 
will  show  how  little  he  actively  shared  the  passions 
and  contentions  of  the  stirring  times  through  which 
\  he  moved.  Yet  his  temperament  exposed  him  to 
sudden  outbursts  of  scorn  and  anger,  which  brought 
\  him  now  and  then  into  violent  collision  with  his 
neighbours.  An  incident  of  this  sort  happened 
while  he  was  studying  under  the  patronage  of 
Lorenzo  de'  Medici,  and  its  consequences  marked 
him  physically  for  life.  The  young  artists  whom 
the  Magnificent  gathered  round  him  used  to 
practise   drawing   in  the  Brancacci  Chapel  of  the 


QUARREL  WITH   TORRIGIANO.  31 

3armine.  There  Masaccio  and  his  followers  be- 
queathed to  us  noble  examples  of  the  grand  style  upon 
the  frescoed  panels  of  the  chapel  walls.  It  was  the 
sustom  of  industrious  lads  to  make  transcripts  from 
;hose  broad  designs,  some  of  which  Eaphael  deigned 
n  his  latest  years  to  repeat,  with  altered  manner, 
or  the  Stanze  of  the  Vatican  and  the  Cartoons. 
Michelangelo  went  one  day  into  the  Carmine  with 
Piero  Torrigiano  and  other  comrades.  >  What  ensued 
may  best  be  reported  in  the  narration  which  Torri- 
iano  at  a  later  time  made  to  Benvenuto  Cellini. 

**  This  Buonarroti  and  I  used,  when  we  were  boys, 
;o  go  into  the  Church  of  the  Carmine,  to  learn  draw- 
ing from  the  chapel  of  Masaccio.  /  It  was  Buonarroti's 

abit  to  banter  all  who  were  drawing  there  ;  and  one 
day,  when  he  was  annoying  me,  I  got  more  angry 
than  usual,  and,  clenching  my  fist,  I  gave  him  such 

blow  on  the  nose  that  I  felt  bone  and  cartilage  go 
down  like  biscuit  beneath  my  knuckles;  and  this 
mark  of  mine  he  will  carry  with  him  to  the  grave."  ^ 
The  portraits  of  Michelangelo  prove  that  Torrigiano's 
}oast  was  not  a  vain  one.  They  show  a  nose  broken 
in  the  bridge.  But  Torrigiano,  for  this  act  of 
violence,  came  to  be  regarded  by  the  youth  of 
Florence  with  aversion,  as  one  who  had  laid  sacri- 
egious  hands  upon  the  sacred  ark.  Cellini  himself 
would  have  wiped  out  the  insult  with  blood.  Still 
Cellini  knew  that  personal  violence  was  not  in  the 
line  of  Michelangelo's  character ;  for  Michelangelo, 

^  Memoirs  of  GelUn%  Book  i.  chap.  xiii. 


32  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

according  to  his  friend  and  best  biographer,  Condivi, 
was  by  nature,  "as  is  usual  with  men  of  sedentary 
and  contemplative  habits,  rather  timorous  than  other- 
wise, except  when  he  is  roused  by  righteous  anger 
to  resent  unjust  injuries  or  wrongs  done  to  himself 
or  others,  in  which  case  he  plucks  up  more  spirit 
than  those  who  are  esteemed  brave ;  but,  for  the 
rest,  he  is  most  patient  and  enduring."*  Cellini, 
then,  knowing  the  quality  of  Michelangelo's  temper, 
and  respecting  him  as  a  deity  of  art,  adds  to  his 
report  of  Torrigiano's  conversation :  "  These  words 
begat  in  me  such  hatred  of  the  man,  since  I  was 
always  gazing  at  the  masterpieces  of  the  divine 
Michelangelo,  that,  although  I  felt  a  wish  to  gc 
with  him  to  England,  I  now  could  never  bear  the 
sight  of  him." 


VIII. 

The  years  Michelangelo  spent  in  the  Casa  Medici 
were  probably  the  blithest  and  most  joyous  of  his 
lifetime.  The  men  of  wit  and  learning  who  sur- 
rounded the  Magnificent  were  not  remarkable  foi 
piety  or  moral  austerity.  Lorenzo  himself  found  it 
politically  useful  *'  to  occupy  the  Florentines  with 
shows  and  festivals,  in  order  that  they  might  think 
of  their  own  pastimes  and  not  of  his  designs,  and, 
growing   unused    to    the   conduct   of  the  common- 

^  Condivi,  p.  83. 


CARNIVALS   AT  FLORENCE.  33 

wealth,  might  leave  the  reins  of  government  in  his 
Lands."  ^  Accordingly  he  devised  those  Carnival 
riumphs  and  processions  which  filled  the  sombre 
treets  of  Florence  with  Bacchanalian  revellers,  and 
he  ears  of  her  grave  citizens  with  ill-disguised 
bscenity.  Lorenzo  took  part  in  them  himself,  and 
;omposed  several  choruses  of  high  literary  merit  to 
)e  sung  by  the  masqueraders.  One  of  these  carries 
],  refrain  which  might  be  chosen  as  a  motto  for  the 
pirit  of  that  age  upon  the  brink  of  ruin  : — 

Youths  and  maids,  enjoy  to-day  : 
Naught  ye  know  about  to-morrow  1 

3e  caused  the  triumphs  to  be  carefully  prepared  by 
he  best  artists,  the  dresses  of  the  masquers  to  be 
Lccurately  studied,  and  their  chariots  to  be  adorned 
vith  illustrative  paintings.  Michelangelo's  old  friend 
jranacci  dedicated  his  talents  to  these  shows,  which 
Iso  employed  the  wayward  fancy  of  Piero  di  Cosimo 
nd  Pontormo's  power  as  a  colourist.  "It  was  their 
vont,"  says  II  Lasca,  "to  go  forth  after  dinner ;  and 
)ften  the  processions  paraded  through  the  streets  till 
hree  or  four  hours  into  the  night,  with  a  multi- 
ude  of  masked  men  on  horseback  following,  richly 
Iressed,  exceeding  sometimes  three  hundred  in 
lumber,  and  as  many  on  foot  with  lighted  torches. 
Thus  they  traversed  the  city,  singing  to  the  accom- 
)animent  of  music  arranged  for  four,  eight,  twelve, 

1  Adapted    from    Savonarola's    Trattato    circa   il   ReggimentOf    &c., 
.^'lorence,  1847. 
VOL.  I.  c 


34  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

or  even  fifteen  voices,  and  supported  by  various 
instruments."  ^  Lorenzo  represented  the  worst  as 
well  as  the  best  qualities  of  his  age.  If  he  kne^^ 
how  to  enslave  Florence,  it  was  because  his  owe 
temperament  inclined  him  to  share  the  amusements 
of  the  crowd,  while  his  genius  enabled  him  to  in- 
vest corruption  with  charm.  His  friend  Polizianc 
entered  with  the  zest  of  a  poet  and  a  pleasure- 
seeker  into  these  diversions.  He  helped  Lorenzc 
to  revive  the  Tuscan  Mayday  games,  and  wrote 
exquisite  lyrics  to  be  sung  by  girls  in  summer  even- 
ings on  the  public  squares.  This  giant  of  learn- 
ing, who  filled  the  lecture-rooms  of  Florence  with 
students  of  all  nations,  and  whose  critical  anc 
rhetorical  labours  marked  an  epoch  in  the  historj 
of  scholarship,  was  by  nature  a  versifier,  and  a  ver- 
sifier of  the  people.  He  found  nothing  easier  that 
to  throw  aside  his  professor's  mantle  and  to  im- 
provise ballate  for  women  to  chant  as  they  dancec 
their  rounds  upon  the  Piazza  di  S.  Trinity.  Th< 
frontispiece  to  an  old  edition  of  such  lyrics  repre- 
sents Lorenzo  surrounded  w^ith  masquers  in  quaim 
dresses,  leading  the  revel  beneath  the  walls  of  the 
Palazzo.  Another  woodcut  shows  an  angle  of  th( 
Casa  Medici  in  Via  Larga,  girls  dancing  the  carolc 
upon  the  street  below,  one  with  a  wreath  anc 
thyrsus  kneeling,  another  presenting  the  Magni 
ficent   with   a   book   of  love-ditties.^     The   burdei 

1  Preface  to  Tutti  i  Trionfi^  Firenze,  1559. 

2  See  my  Renaissance  in  Italy^  vol.  iv.  p.  386. 


POETRY  AND   MUSIC.  35 

f  all  this  poetry  was :  *'  Gather  ye  roses  while 
e  may,  cast  prudence  to  the  winds,  obey  your 
astincts." 

There  is  little  doubt  that  Michelangelo  took  part 
a  these  pastimes  ;  for  we  know  that  he  was  de- 
oted  to  poetry,  not  always  of  the  gravest  kind, 
in  anecdote  related  by  Cellini  may  here  be  intro- 
uced,   since  it   illustrates    the  Florentine  customs 

have  been  describing.  "  Luigi  Pulci  was  a  young 
lan,  who  possessed  extraordinary  gifts  for  poetry, 
Dgether  with  sound  Latin  scholarship.  He  wrote 
rell,  was  graceful  in  manners,  and  of  surpassing 
ersonal  beauty.  While  he  was  yet  a  lad  and  living 
a  Florence,  it  was  the  habit  of  folk  in  certain 
laces  of  the  city  to  meet  together  during  the  nights 
f  summer  on  the  open  streets,  and  he,  ranking 
mong  the  best  of  the  improvisatori,  sang  there, 
lis  recitations  were  so  admirable,  that  the  divine 
lichelangelo,  that  prince  of  sculptors  and  of 
ainters,  went,  wherever  he  heard  that  he  would  be, 
7-ith  the  greatest  eagerness  and  delight  to  listen  to 
im.  There  was  a  man  called  Piloto,  a  goldsmith, 
ery  able  in  his  art,  who,  together  with  myself. 
Dined  Buonarroti  upon  these  occasions."  ^  In  like 
lanner,  the  young  Michelangelo  probably  attended 
lose  nocturnal  gatherings  upon  the  steps  of  the 
)uomo  which  have  been   so   graphically  described 

^  Cellini,  Book  i.  chap,  xxxii.     This  Luigi  Pulci  must  not  be  con- 
►unded  with  the  famous  author  of  the  Morgante.     The  period  referred 
here  by  Cellini  may  have  been  about  1520. 


36  LIFE  OF   MICHELANGELO. 

by  Doni :  ^  **  The  Florentines  seem  to  me  to  take 
more  pleasure  in  summer  airings  than  any  other  folk ; 
for  they  have,  in  the  square  of  S.  Liberata,  betweer 
the  antique  temple  of  Mars,  now  the  Baptistery, 
and  that  marvellous  work  of  modern  architecture, 
the  Duomo :  they  have,  I  say,  certain  steps  oi 
marble,  rising  to  a  broad  flat  space,  upon  whict 
the  youth  of  the  city  come  and  lay  themselves  full- 
length  during  the  season  of  extreme  heat.  The 
place  is  fitted  for  its  purpose,  because  a  fresh  breeze 
is  always  blowing,  with  the  blandest  of  all  air,  and 
the  flags  of  white  marble  usually  retain  a  certain 
coolness.  There  then  I  seek  my  chiefest  solace, 
when,  taking  my  aerial  flights,  I  sail  invisibl} 
above  them ;  see  and  hear  their  doings  and  dis- 
courses :  and  forasmuch  as  they  are  endowed  witi 
keen  and  elevated  understanding,  they  always  have 
a  thousand  charming  things  to  relate  ;  as  novels, 
intrigues,  fables  ;  they  discuss  duels,  practical  jokesj 
old  stories,  tricks  played  off  by  men  and  womer 
on  each  other :  things,  each  and  all,  rare,  witty 
noble,  decent  and  in  proper  taste.  I  can  swear  thai 
during  all  the  hours  I  spent  in  listening  to  thei] 
nightly  dialogues,  I  never  heard  a  word  that  waji 
not  comely  and  of  good  repute.  Indeed,  it  seemec 
to  me  very  remarkable,  among  such  crowds  of  youn^ 
men,  to  overhear  nothing  but  virtuous  conversation.' 
At  the  same  period,  Michelangelo  fell  under  ver> 
difierent  influences ;  and  these  left  a  far  more  lasting 

1  /  Marmi.    Firenze  :  Barbara,  1863,  vol.  i.  p.  8. 


SAVONAROLA.  37 

mpression  on  his  character  than  the  gay  festivals 
md  witty  word-combats  of  the  lords  of  Florence, 
n  1 49 1  Savonarola,  the  terrible  prophet  of  coming 
voes,  the  searcher  of  men's  hearts,  and  the  remorse- 
ess  denouncer  of  pleasant  vices,  began  that  Floren- 
ine  career  which  ended  with  his  martyrdom  in  1498. 
3e  had  preached  in  Florence  eight  years  earlier, 
mt  on  that  occasion  he  passed  unnoticed  through 
he  crowd.  Now  he  took  the  whole  city  by  storm. 
)beying  the  magic  of  his  eloquence  and  the  mag- 
letism  of  his  personality,  her  citizens  accepted  this 
Dominican  friar  as  their  political  leader  and  moral 
eformer,  when  events  brought  about  the  expulsion 
>{  the  Medici  in  1494.  Michelangelo  was  one  of  his 
onstant  listeners  at  S.  Marco  and  in  the  Duomo. 
3e  witnessed  those  stormy  scenes  of  religious  revival 
md  passionate  fanaticism  which  contemporaries  have 
mpressively  described.  The  shorthand-writer  to 
vhom  we  owe  the  text  of  Savonarola's  sermons  at 
imes  breaks  off  with  words  like  these  :  **  Here  I  was 
0  overcome  with  weeping  that  1  could  not  go  on." 
ico  della  Mirandola  tells  that  the  mere  sound 
)f  the  monk's  voice,  startling  the  stillness  of  the 
Duomo,  thronged  through  all  its  space  with  people, 
vas  like  a  clap  of  doom ;  a  cold  shiver  ran  through 
he  marrow  of  his  bones,  the  hairs  of  his  head  stood 
m  end  while  he  listened.  Another  witness  reports  : 
*  Those  sermons  caused  such  terror,  alarm,  sobbing, 
md  tears,  that  every  one  passed  through  the  streets 
vithout  speaking,  more  dead  than  alive." 


(A 


LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 


One  of  the  earliest  extant  letters  of  Michelangelo 
written  from  Rome  in  1497  to  his  brother  Buonarroto 
reveals  a  vivid  interest  in  Savonarola.^  He  relates 
the  evil  rumours  spread  about  the  city  regarding 
his  heretical  opinions,  and  alludes  to  the  hostility 
of  Fra  Mariano  da  Genezzano ;  adding  this  ironica 
sentence  :  "  Therefore  he  ought  by  all  means  to  com( 
and  prophesy  a  little  in  Rome,  when  afterwards  h( 
will  be  canonised ;  and  so  let  all  his  party  be  0; 
good  cheer."  In  later  years,  it  is  said  that  the  grea 
sculptor  read  and  meditated  Savonarola's  writing! 
together  with  the  Bible.  The  apocalyptic  thunder 
ings  and  voices  of  the  Sistine  Chapel  owe  much  0 
their  soul-thrilling  impressiveness  to  those  studies 
Michelet  says,  not  without  justice,  that  the  spirit  0 
Savonarola  lives  again  in  the  frescoes  of  that  vault. 

On  the  8th  of  April  1492,  Michelangelo  lost  hii 
friend  and  patron.  Lorenzo  died  in  his  villa  a 
Careggi,  aged  little  more  than  forty-four  years 
Guicciardini  implies  that  his  health  and  strengtl 
had  been  prematurely  broken  by  sensual  indulgences 
About  the  circumstances  of  his  last  hours  there  ar( 
some  doubts  and  difficulties ;  but  it  seems  clea 
that  he  expired  as  a  Christian,  after  a  final  interview 
with  Savonarola.  His  death  cast  a  gloom  over  Italy 
Princes  and  people  were  growing  uneasy  with  the  pre 
sentiment  of  impending  disaster ;  and  now  the  onl] 
man  who  by  his  diplomatical  sagacity  could  main 
tain  the    balance  of  power,  had  been  taken  fron 

^  Leltere,  xlvi,  p.  59 


DEATH   OF   LORENZO.  39 

hem.  To  his  friends  and  dependants  in  Florence 
he  loss  appeared  irreparable.  Poliziano  poured  forth 
lis  sorrow  in  a  Latin  threnody  of  touching  and 
limple  beauty.^  Two  years  later  both  he  and  Pico 
lella  Mirandola  followed  their  master  to  the  grave. 
Vlarsilio  Ficino  passed  away  in  1499;  and  a  friend 
)f  his  asserted  that  the  sage's  ghost  appeared  to 
lim.^  The  atmosphere  was  full  of  rumours,  portents, 
strange  premonitions  of  revolution  and  doom.  The 
;rue  golden  age  of  the  Italian  Renaissance  may 
ilmost  be  said  to  have  ended  with  Lorenzo  de' 
yiedici's  life. 

1  S>ee  Carmina  Quinque  El :  Poetarum,  Bergomie,  Lancellotus,  1753, 
X  283.     Monodia  in  Laur.  Med.  Intonata  per  Arrighum  Isac. 

Quis  dabit  capiti  meo 
Aquam  ?  quis  oculis  meis 
Fontem  lacrymarum  dabit  1 
Ut  nocte  fleam, 
lit  luce  fleam. 

Compare  (op.  cit.,  p.  38)  Bembo's  fine  elegy  on  the  almost  contemporary 
deaths  of  Lorenzo  and  Poliziano,  ^*hich  closes  with  these  lines  : — 

Heu  sic  tu  raptus,  sic  te  mala  fata  tulerunt, 
Arbiter  Ausouise  Politiane  lyrse. 

2  Ficino  and  Michele  Mercato  had  frequently  discussed  the  immor- 
tality of  the  soul  together.  They  also  agreed  that  whichever  of  the  two 
died  first  should,  if  possible,  appear  to  the  other,  and  inform  him  of 
the  life  beyond  the  grave.  Michele,  then,  was  studying  at  an  early 
hour  one  morning,  when  a  horseman  stopped  beneath  his  window,  and 
Marsilio's  voice  exclaimed:  "Michele,  Michele,  it  is  all  true!"  The 
scholar  rose  and  saw  his  friend  upon  a  white  horse  vanishing  into  the 
distance.  He  afterwards  discovered  that  Ficino  died  precisely  at  the 
time  when  the  apparition  came  to  him.     Harford,  i.  71. 


CHAPTER  II. 

I.  Michelangelo  returns  to  his  father's  house. — The  lost  statue  of  a| 
Hercules. — Government  of  Piero  de'  Medici. — He  takes  Michel- 
angelo back  into  the  palace. — 2.  Studies  in  anatomy  at  S.  SpiritoJ 
— The  story  of  Lorenzo's  apparition  to  Cardiere. — Michelangelo 
goes    to    Bologna. — Works    on    the    tomb    of    S.   Domenico. — 3. 
Sudden  flight  from  Bologna.— Carves  the  little  S.  John  and  the 
Sleeping   Cupid. — History   of   the  latter  statue. — Michelangelo's 
first   iouriiev  to  Rome. — 4.   His   residence   in  the   house   of  thei 
Cardinal    di    S.   Giorgio. — Probable    occupations. — Jacopo    Gallo 
buys  his  Bacchus. — Criticism  of  this  statue. — The  Cupid  at  South  | 
Kensington. — Michelangelo's   treatment   of  classical  subjects. — 5.  j 
The  Madonna  and  Entombment  in  the  National  Gallery. — 6.  The; 
Cardinal  di  S.  Dionigi  commissions  him  to  make  a  Piet^. — The! 
Madonna  della   Febbre  at  S.  Peter's  in  Rome. — Alexander  the  I 
Sixth's  death. — 7.  The  Bruges  group  of  Madonna  and  Child, —  | 
Contradictions  in   our  reports  concerning  this   marble. — 8.   The  i 
Buonarroti  family  at  Florence. — Michelangelo's  relations  to   hie  i 
father  and  brothers. — His  personal  habits   and  frugal  life. — His  1 
physical  appearance  and  constitutional  temperament.  1 

I. 

After   the    death  of  Lorenzo   de'  Medici,   Michel- 
angelo returned  to  his  father's  home,  and  began  to  j 
work  upon  a  statue  of  Hercules,  which  is  now  lost,  i 
It  used  to  stand  in  the  Strozzi  Palace  until  the  siege  i 
of  Florence  in   1530,  when  Giovanni  Battista  della  ! 
Palla  bought  it  from  the  steward  of  Filippo  Strozzi, 
and  sent  it  into  France  as  a  present  to  the  king. 
The  Magnificent  left  seven  children  by  his  wife 


y^ 


/  ^         PIERO   DE'   MEDICI.  41 


plarice,  of  tha  princely  Roman  house  of  the  Orsini. 
The  eldest,  Pieyo,  was  married  to  Alfonsina,  of  the 
;ame  illustrious  family.  Giovanni,  the  second,  had 
dready  received  a  cardinal's  hat  from  his  kinsman, 
[nnocent  VIII.  Giuliano,  the  third,  was  destined  to 
!)lay  a  considerable  part  in  Florentine  history  under 
he  title  of  Duke  of  Nemours.  One  daughter  was 
narried  to  a  Salviati,  another  to  a  Eidolfi,  a  third 
io  the  Pope's  son,  Franceschetto  Cybb.  The  fourth, 
liuisa,  had  been  betrothed  to  her  distant  cousin, 
jiovanni  de'  Medici ;  but  the  match  was  broken 
)fF,  and  she  remained  unmarried. 

Piero  now  occupied  that  position  of  eminence  and 
emi-despotic  authority  in  Florence  which  his  father 
Lud  grandfather  had  held  ;  but  he  was  made  of 
lifferent  stuff,  both  mentally  and  physically.  The 
)rsini  blood,  which  he  inherited  from  his  mother, 
aixed  but  ill  in  his  veins  with  that  of  Florentine 
itizens  and  bankers.  Following  the  proud  and 
nsolent  traditions  of  his  maternal  ancestors,  he 
egan  to  discard  the  mask  of  civil  urbanity  with 
^hich  Cosimo  and  Lorenzo  had  concealed  their 
lespotism.  He  treated  the  republic  as  though  it 
!rere  his  own  property,  and  prepared  for  the  coming 
isasters  of  his  race  by  the  overbearing  arrogance 
f  his  behaviour.  Physically,  he  was  powerful,  tall, 
ind  active  ;  fond  of  field-sports,  and  one  of  the  best 
>allone-players  of  his  time  in  Italy.  Though  he 
lad  been  a  pupil  of  Poliziano,  he  displayed  but 
ittle   of  his  father's  interest  in  learning,  art,  and 


42  LIFE   OF  MICHELANGELO. 

literature.       Chance     brought     Michelangelo     int» 
personal  relations  with  this  man.     On  the  20th  0 
January    1494  there  was   a  heavy  fall  of  snow  ii 
Florence,  and  Piero  sent  for  the  young  sculptor  t( 
model  a  colossal  snow-man  in  the  courtyard  of  hi 
palace.     Critics  have  treated  this  as  an  insult  to  thd 
great  artist,  and  a  sign  of  Piero's  want  of  taste  ;  bu 
nothing    was    more   natural   than   that   a   previou; 
inmate  of  the  Medicean  household  should  use  hii 
talents  for  the  recreation  of  the  family  who  livec 
there.     Piero   upon   this    occasion   begged   Michel 
angelo  to  return  and  occupy  the  room  he  used  t( 
call  his  own  during  Lorenzo's  lifetime.     "  And  so,' 
writes  Condivi,  "  he  remained  for  some  months  witl 
the  Medici,   and  was  treated  by  Piero  with  greai 
kindness  ;  for  the  latter  used  to  extol  two  men  oi 
his   household   as  persons   of  rare  ability,  the  one 
being  Michelangelo,   the    other   a   Spanish    groom, 
who,  in  addition  to  his  personal  beauty,  which  was 
something  wonderful,  had  so  good  a  wind  and  sucB 
agility,  that  when  Piero  was  galloping  on  horseback 
he  could  not  outstrip  him  by  a  hand's-breadth. 


»» 1 


II. 

At  this  period  of  his  life  Michelangelo  devoted 
himself  to  anatomy.     He  had  a  friend,  the  Prior  of 

^  Condivi,  p.  12. 


ANATOMICAL  STUDIES.  43 

^^^  ).  Spirito,  for  whom  he   carved  a  wooden  crucifix 
^'  f  nearly  life-size.     This  liberal-minded  churchman 
^   lut  a  room    at   his  disposal,   and   allowed   him  to 
^  issect   dead    bodies.       Condivi    tells    us   that    the 
^  iractice  of  anatomy  was  a  passion  with  his  master. 
His   prolonged    habits    of   dissection  injured   his 
tomach  to  such  an  extent  that  he  lost  the  power 
if  eating  or    drinking   to    any  profit.      It   is  true, 
^  Lowever,  that  he  became  so  learned  in  this  branch 
if  knowledge   that   he   has    often    entertained   the 
dea  of  composing  a  work  for  sculptors  and  painters, 
rhich    should    treat   exhaustively  of  all  the  move- 
Qents  of  the   human  body,  the  external   aspect  of 
he  limbs,  the  bones,  and   so  forth,  adding  an  in- 
genious   discourse   upon   the    truths    discovered   by 
dm  through  the  investigations  of  many  years.     He 
^ould   have    done   this   if  he   had   not   mistrusted 
ds  own  power  of  treating  such  a  subject  with  the 
lignity  and  style  of  a  practised  rhetorician.     I  know 
llvell  that  when   he   reads    Albert  Dtirer's  book,  it 
leems  to  him  of  no  great  value  ;  his  own  concep- 
ion  being  so  far  fuller  and  more  useful.     Truth  to 
ell,    Diirer  only   treats    of  the   measurements  and 
aried  aspects  of  the  human  form,  making  his  figures 
itraight  as  stakes ;  and,  what  is  more  important,  he 
lays  nothing   about   the    attitudes    and  gestures  of 
;he  body.      Inasmuch  as  Michelangelo  is  now  ad- 
vanced in  years,  and  does  not  count  on  bringing  his 
deas  to  light  through  composition,  he  has  disclosed 
:o  me  his  theories  in  their   minutest  details.     He 


44  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

also  began  to  discourse  upon  the  same  topic  wit) 
Messer  E-ealdo  Colombo,  an  anatomist  and  surgeoi 
of  the  highest  eminence.  For  the  furtherance  c 
such  studies  this  good  friend  of  ours  sent  him  th 
corpse  of  a  Moor,  a  young  man  of  incomparabl 
beauty,  and  admirably  adapted  for  our  purpose.  I 
was  placed  at  S.  Agata,  where  I  dwelt  and  stiljl 
dwell,  as  being  a  quarter  removed  from  publil 
observation.  On  this  corpse  Michelangelo  demon 
strated  to  me  many  rare  and  abstruse  things,  whicl 
perhaps  have  never  yet  been  fully  understood,  ami 
all  of  which  I  noted  down,  hoping  one  day,  b 
the  help  of  some  learned  man,  to  give  them  t" 
the  public."  ^  Of  Michelangelo's  studies  in  ana 
tomy  we  have  one  grim  but  interesting  record  ii 
a  pen-drawing  by  his  hand  at  Oxford.  A  corps 
is  stretched  upon  a  plank  and  trestles.  Two  mei 
are  bending  over  it  with  knives  in  their  hands 
and,  for  light  to  guide  them  in  their  labours, 
candle  is  stuck  into  the  belly  of  the  subject. 

As  it  is  not  my  intention  to  write  the  politica 
history  of  Michelangelo's  period,  I  need  not  digres 
here  upon  the  invasion  of  Italy  by  Charles  VIII. 
which  caused  the  expulsion  of  the  Medici  fron 
Florence,  and  the  establishment  of  a  liberal  govern 
ment  under  the  leadership  of  Savonarola.  Michel 
angelo  appears  to  have  anticipated  the  catastroph< 
which  was  about  to  overwhelm  his  patron.  H( 
was  by  nature  timid,  suspicious,  and  apt  to  foreset 

1  Condivi,  p.  73. 


o 

O 
Q 


LORENZO'S   GHOST.  45 

bisaster.  Possibly  he  may  have  judged  that  the 
jaughty  citizens  of  Florence  would  not  long  put 
Vp  with  Piero's  aristocratical  insolence.  But  Con- 
ivi  tells  a  story  on  the  subject  which  is  too  curious 
D  be  omitted,  and  which  he  probably  set  down 
'om  Michelangelo's  own  lips.  **In  the  palace  of 
•iero  a  man  called  Cardiere  was  a  frequent  inmate. 
I'he  Magnificent  took  much  pleasure  in  his  society, 
ecause  he  improvised  verses  to  the  guitar  with 
larvellous  dexterity,  and  the  Medici  also  practised 
lis  art ;  so  that  nearly  every  evening  after  supper 
lere  was  music.  This  Cardiere,  being  a  friend  of 
lichelangelo,  confided  to  him  a  vision  which  pursued 
im,  to  the  following  effect.  Lorenzo  de*  Medici 
ppeared  to  him  barely  clad  in  one  black  tattered 
Dbe,  and  bade  him  relate  to  his  son  Piero  that  he 
rould  soon  be  expelled  and  never  more  return  to 
is  home.  Now  Piero  was  arrogant  and  overbearing 
0  such  an  extent  that  neither  the  good-nature  of 
he  Cardinal  Giovanni  his  brother,  nor  the  courtesy 
nd  urbanity  of  Giuliano,  was  so  strong  to  main- 
siin  him  in  Florence  as  his  own  faults  to  cause 
is  expulsion.  Michelangelo  encouraged  the  man 
0  obey  Lorenzo  and  report  the  matter  to  his  son  ;  but 
Jardiere,  fearing  his  new  master's  temper,  kept  it  to 
imself.  On  another  morning,  when  Michelangelo 
ra.s  in  the  courtyard  of  the  palace,  Cardiere  came 
rfth  terror  and  pain  written  on  his  countenance, 
jast  night  Lorenzo  had  again  appeared  to  him  in 
he  same  garb  of  woe  ;  and  while  he  was  awake  and 


• 


46  LIFE  OF  MICHELANGELO. 

gazing  with  his  eyes,  the  spectre  dealt  him  a  blo^ 
on  the  cheek,  to  punish  him  for  omitting  to  repoi 
his  vision  to  Piero.     Michelangelo  immediately  ga^ 
him  such  a  thorough  scolding  that  Cardiere  plucke 
up  courage,  and    set  forth    on  foot  for  Careggi, 
Medicean  villa  some  three   miles  distant  from  th| 
city.      He    had  travelled  about  halfway,  when  h 
met  Piero,  who  was  riding  home ;  so  he  stopped  tb 
cavalcade,   and   related    all   that  he  had  seen  an 
heard.     Piero  laughed  him  to  scorn,  and,  beckonin 
the   running   footmen,   bade  them   mock  the  poc 
fellow.      His   Chancellor,  who   was  afterwards  th 
Cardinal  of  Bibbiena,  cried  out :     *  You  are  a  mad 
man !      Which  do  you  think  Lorenzo  loved  bes^ 
his  son  or  you?     If  his   son,  would  he  not  rathe 
have   appeared   to   him   than  to    some    one    elsel 
Having  thus  jeered  him,  they  let  him  go ;  and  he 
when  he  returned  home  and  complained  to  Michel 
angelo,  so  convinced  the  latter  of  the  truth  of  hi 
vision,  that  Michelangelo  after  two  days  left  Florenc 
with  a  couple   of  comrades,   dreading  that  if  wha 
Cardiere  had  predicted  should  come  true,  he  wouL 
no  longer  be  safe  in  Florence."  ^ 

This  ghost-story  bears  a  remarkable  resemblanc 
to  what  Clarendon  relates  concerning  the  appari 
tion  of  Sir  George  Villiers.  Wishing  to  warn  hi 
son,  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  of  his  coming  mur 
der  at  the  hand  of  Lieutenant  Felton,  he  did  no 
appear  to  the  Duke  himself,   but  to  an  old  man 

1  Condivi,  p.  13. 


ck 


FLIGHT   TO   BOLOGNA.  47 

Irvant  of  the  family ;  upon  which  behaviour  of  Sir 

pt  leorge's  ghost  the  same   criticism  has  been  passed 

p§  on  that  of  Lorenzo  de'  Medici. 

Michelangelo  and  his  two  friends  travelled  across 
e  Apennines  to  Bologna,  and  thence  to  Venice, 
here  they  stopped  a  few  days.  Want  of  money,  or 
^rhaps  of  work  there,  drove  them  back  upon  the 
ad  to  Florence.  When  they  reached  Bologna  on 
[e  return  journey,  a  curious  accident  happened  to 

lii  16  party.  The  master  of  the  city,  Giovanni  Benti- 
Dglio,  had  recently  decreed  that  every  foreigner,  on 
itering  the  gates,  should  be  marked  with  a  seal  of 

la  d  wax  upon  his  thumb.  The  three  Florentines 
nitted  to  obey  this  regulation,  and  were  taken  to 
e  office  of  the  Customs,  where  they  were  fined 
fifty  Bolognese  pounds.  Michelangelo  did  not 
Dssess  enough  to  pay  this  fine ;  but  it  so  happened 
lat  a  Bolognese  nobleman  called  Gianfrancesco 
Idovrandi  was  there,  who,  hearing  that  Buonarroti 
as  a  sculptor,  caused  the  men  to  be  released.  Upon 
is  urgent  invitation,  Michelangelo  went  to  this 
mtleman's  house,  after  taking  leave  of  his  two 
lends  and  giving  them  all  the  money  in  his  pocket. 
I^^ith  Messer  Aldovrandi  he  remained  more  than  a 
;3ar,  much  honoured  by  his  new  patron,  who  took 
reat  delight  in  his  genius  ;  "  and  every  evening  he 
liade  Michelangelo  read  aloud  to  him  out  of  Dante 
ir  Petrarch,  and  sometimes  Boccaccio,  until  he  went 
i)  sleep."  ^     He  also  worked  upon  the  tomb  of  San 

^  Condi vi,  p.  1 5. 


48  LIFE  OF   MICHELANGELO. 

Domenico  during  this  first  residence  at  Bologna 
Originally  designed  and  carried  forward  by  Nicol 
Pisano,  this  elaborate  specimen  of  mediaeval  sculp 
ture  remained  in  some  points  imperfect.  Then 
was  a  San  Petronio  whose  drapery,  begun  by  NicoL 
da  Bari,  was  unfinished.  To  this  statue  Michel 
angelo  put  the  last  touches ;  and  he  also  carved  i 
kneeling  angel  with  a  candelabrum,  the  workman 
ship  of  which  surpasses  in  delicacy  of  execution  al 
the  other  figures  on  the  tomb. 


III. 

Michelangelo  left  Bologna  hastily.  It  is  said  that 
a  sculptor,  who  had  expected  to  be  employed  upor 
the  area  of  S.  Domenic,  threatened  to  do  him  som( 
mischief  if  he  stayed  and  took  the  bread  out  o: 
the  mouths  of  native  craftsmen.^  He  returned  tc 
Florence  some  time  in  1495.  The  city  was  no\^ 
quiet  again,  under  the  rule  of  Savonarola.  It{ 
burghers,  in  obedience  to  the  friar's  preaching, 
began  to  assume  that  air  of  pietistic  sobriety  which 
contrasted  strangely  with  the  gay  licentiousness  en- 
couraged by  their  former  master.  Though  the 
reigning  branch  of  the  Medici  remained  in  exile, 

1  It  is  an  area  or  sarcophagus  of  Gothic  design,  adorned  with  bas- 
reliefs  and  a  great  number  of  detached  statuettes.  It  stands  in  a  chapel 
on  the  south  side  of  the  nave  of  the  Church  of  S.  Domenico. 

*  Condi vi,  p.  t6. 


Statue  of  S.  John. 


THE   S.    GIOVANNINO.  49 

leir  distant  cousins,  who  were  descended  from 
Lorenzo,  the  brother  of  Cosimo,  Pater  Patriae,  kept 
neir  place  in  the  republic.  They  thought  it  prud- 
Qt,  however,  at  this  time,  to  exchange  the  hated 
ame  of  de'  Medici  for  Popolano.  With  a  member 
f  this  section  of  the  Medicean  family,  Lorenzo 
i  Pierfrancesco,  Michelangelo  soon  found  himself 
n  terms  of  intimacy.  It  was  for  him  that  he  made 
statue  of  the  young  S  John,  which  was  perhaps 
^discovered  at  Pisa  in  1874.^  For  a  long  time  this 
.  Giovannino  was  attributed  to  Donatello ;  and  it 
ertainly  bears  decided  marks  of  resemblance  to 
lat  master's  manner,  in  the  choice  of  attitude,  the 
lose  adherence  to  the  model,  and  the  treatment  of 
16  hands  and  feet.  Still  it  has  notable  affinities  to 
le  style  of  Michelangelo,  especially  in  the  youth- 
il  beauty  of  the  features,  the  disposition  of  the 
air,  and  the  sinuous  lines  which  govern  the  whole 
omposition.^  It  may  also  be  remarked  that  those 
eculiarities  in  the  hands  and  feet  which  I  have 
lentioned  as  reminding  us  of  Donatello — a  remark- 
ble  length  in  both  extremities,  owing  to  the  elonga- 
ion  of  the  metacarpal  and  metatarsal  bones  and  of 

Ine  spaces  dividing  these  from  the  forearm  and  tibia — 
1  It  had  been  bougbt  in  18 17,  and  placed  in  the  palace  of  the  Counts 
rualandi  Kosselmini  at  Pisa.     The  Berlin  Museum  acquired  it  in  1880, 
nd  Professor  Bode  strongly  maintained  its  genuineness  as  a  work  of 
lichelangelo. 
2  The  face  is  formed  upon  a  type  which  Donatello  used  for  his  S. 
leorge,  and  which  Michelangelo  adhered  to  afterwards  in  many  of  his 
.'orks.    Not  much  can  be  based  upon  this  detail.     Botticelli's  type  of 
ace  corresponds  in  the  same  way  to  that  of  Filippino  Lippi. 
VOL.  I.  D 


50  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

are  precisely  the  points  which  Michelangelo  retained] 
through  life  from  his  early  study  of  Donatello's 
work.  We  notice  them  particularly  in  the  Dying 
Slave  of  the  Louvre,  which  is  certainly  one  of  his 
most  characteristic  works.  Good  judges  are  therefore 
perhaps  justified  in  identifying  this  S.  Giovannino,i 
which  is  now  in  the  Berlin  Museum,  with  the  statue 
made  for  Lorenzo  di  Pierfrancesco  de'  Medici.^ 

The  next  piece  which  occupied  Michelangelo's 
chisel  was  a  Sleeping  Cupid.  His  patron  thought 
this  so  extremely  beautiful  that  he  remarked  to  thei 
sculptor :  *'  If  you  were  to  treat  it  artificially,  so  asi 
to  make  it  look  as  though  it  had  been  dug  up,  I 
would  send  it  to  Rome ;  it  would  be  accepted  asi 
an  antique,  and  you  would  be  able  to  sell  it  at  a 
far  higher  price."  ^  Michelangelo  took  the  hint. 
His  Cupid  went  to  Rome,  and  was  sold  for  thirty 
ducats  to  a  dealer  called  Messer  Baldassare  del 
Milanese,  who  resold  it  to  RafFaello  Riario,  the 
Cardinal  di  S.  Giorgio,  for  the  advanced  sum  of 
200  ducats.  It  appears  from  this  transaction  thati 
Michelangelo  did  not  attempt  to  impose  upon  thai 
first  purchaser,  but  that  this  man  passed  it  off  upon 
the   Cardinal  as  an  antique.     When  the   Cardinal 

1  Grimm,  vol.  i.  p.  546,  hazards  a  conjecture  that  both  this  statue  andi 
the  Adonis  of  the  Bargello  are  works  by  some  follower  of  Michelangelo. 
This  suggestion  does  not  seem  to  me  probable.  The  reason  for  not 
assigning  the  little  S.  John  to  Michelangelo  is  that  it  does  not  exhibit 
his  peculiar  manner.  But  this  i)eculiar  quality  a  follower  would  have 
certainly  aimed  at  acquiring.  The  choice  lies  between  Donatello  him- 
eelf,  and  Buonarroti  refining  on  that  sculptor's  mannerism. 

^  Condi vi,  p.  16. 


THE   SLEEPING   CUPID.  51 

gan  to  suspect  that  the  Cupid  was  the  work  of  a 
odern  Florentine,  he  sent  one  of  his  gentlemen 
Florence  to  inquire  into  the  circumstances.  The 
st  of  the  story  shall  be  told  in  Condivi's  words. 
"  This  gentleman,  pretending  to  be  on  the  look- 
it  for  a  sculptor  capable  of  executing  certain  works 
Eome,  after  visiting  several,  was  addressed  to 
ichelangelo.  When  he  saw  the  young  artist,  he 
gged  him  to  show  some  proof  of  his  ability ; 
lereupon  Michelangelo  took  a  pen  (for  at  that 
ae  the  crayon  [lapis]  had  not  come  into  use),  and 
ew  a  hand  with  such  grace  that  the  gentleman 
VIS  stupefied.  Afterwards,  he  asked  if  he  had  ever 
v)rked  in  marble,  and  when  Michelangelo  said  yes, 
ad  mentioned  among  other  things  a  Cupid  of  such 
bight  and  in  such  an  attitude,  the  man  knew  that 
h  had  found  the  right  person.  So  he  related  how 
t3  matter  had  gone,  and  promised  Michelangelo, 
i]he  would  come  with  him  to  Eome,  to  get  the 
dference  of  price  made  up,  and  to  introduce  him 
tt  his  patron,  feeling  sure  that  the  latter  would 
roeive  him  very  kindly.  Michelangelo,  then,  partly 
ii  anger  at  having  been  cheated,  and  partly  moved 
b  the  gentleman's  account  of  Eome  as  the  widest 
fild  for  an  artist  to  display  his  talents,  went  with 
hn,  and  lodged  in  his  house,  near  the  palace 
0  the  Cardinal."  ^  S.  Giorgio  compelled  Messer 
Ildassare  to  refund  the  200  ducats,  and  to  take 
tl^    Cupid   back.      But    Michelangelo  got  nothing 

^  Condi  vi,  p.  17. 


LIFE  OF   MICHELANGELO.  *  i 

beyond  his  original  price ;  and  both  Condivi  an! 
Vasari  blame  the  Cardinal  for  having  been  a  du 
and  unsympathetic  patron  to  the  young  artist  ( 
genius  he  had  brought  from  Florence.  Still  tt 
whole  transaction  was  of  vast  importance,  becausl 
it  launched  him  for  the  first  time  upon  Rome,  whei 
he  was  destined  to  spend  the  larger  part  of  his  Iod 
life,  and  to  serve  a  succession  of  Pontiffs  in  the 
most  ambitious  undertakings. 

Before  passing  to  the  events  of  his  sojourn  jI 
Eome,  I  will  wind  up  the  story  of  the  Cupii 
It  passed  first  into  the  hands  of  Cesare  Borgi 
who  presented  it  to  Guidobaldo  di  Montefeltr 
Duke  of  Urbino.  On  the  30th  of  June  150 
the  Marchioness  of  Mantua  wrote  a  letter  to  tl 
Cardinal  of  Este,  saying  that  she  should  vei 
much  like  to  place  this  piece,  together  with  a 
antique  statuette  of  Venus,  both  of  which  had  b< 
longed  to  her  brother-in-law,  the  Duke  of  Urbin 
in  her  own  collection.  Apparently  they  had  ju 
become  the  property  of  Cesare  Borgia,  when  1 
took  and  sacked  the  town  of  Urbino  upon  tl 
20th  of  June  in  that  year.  Cesare  Borgia  seen 
to  have  complied  immediately  with  her  wishes ;  fi 
in  a  second  letter,  dated  July  22,  1502,  she  d< 
scribed  the  Cupid  as  "  without  a  peer  among  tl 
works  of  modern  times."  ^ 

^  See  Gaye,  vol.  ii.  pp.  53,  54.  After  writing  the  above  paragraph, 
thought  it  worth  while  to  go  to  Mantua  expressly  for  the  purpose 
tracing  out  the  Cupid.     At  one  end  of  the  long  gallery  of  the  Liceo  the 


FIRST   VISIT   TO   ROME.  As 


IV. 

Michelangelo  arrived  in  Eome  at  the  end  of  June 
jij  496.  This  we  know  from  the  first  of  his  extant 
3tters,  which  is  dated  July  2,  and  addressed  to 
jorenzo  di  Pierfrancesco  de'  Medici.  The  super- 
cription,  however,  bears  the  name  of  Sandro  Botti- 
elli,  showing  that  some  caution  had  still  to  be 
bserved  in  corresponding  with  the  Medici,  even 
rith  those  who  latterly  assumed  the  name  of 
ll  *opolani.  The  young  Buonarroti  writes  in  excel- 
Bnt  spirits :  "I  only  write  to  inform  you  that  last 


^ 


Tf 


a  little  marble  figure,  about  four  feet  long,  of  a  Cupid  stretched  upon 
is  back  asleep,  short  wings  spread  out  beneath  his  shoulders,  arms  laid 
long  his  sides,  the  bow  and  quiver  close  to  the  left  flank,  the  head 
rowned  with  a  wreath  of  leaves  and  conventional  flowers.  Two  snakes, 
tieir  tails  coiled  loosely  round  each  of  the  boy's  wrists,  are  creeping  with 
pen  mouths  as  though  they  mean  to  come  together  above  his  navel.  The 
larble  seems  to  be  Carrara,  and  has  stains  of  faint  blue  traceable  upon  the 
arface.  The  finish  of  the  statuette  is  exquisite  where  there  has  been  no 
bjury.  It  shines  like  polished  ivory.  But  deep  scratches,  livid  dis- 
olorations,  and  bruised  extremities  point  to  the  action  of  violence  and 
ime.  The  style  is  that  of  Graeco-Roman  decadence,  not  differing  in  any 
□aportant  respect  from  that  of  two  marble  Cupids  in  the  Uf&zi,  one 
f  which,  supposing  it  to  have  come  down  from  Lorenzo  de'  Medici's 

'ollection,  may  have  supplied  Michelangelo  with  his  subject.  Neither 
a  type  nor  in  handling  would  any  one  recognise  a  work  of  Buonarroti. 

iiretthis  does  not  invalidate  its  genuineness,  since  we  know  that  the  lost 
yupid  was  sold  as  an  antique.  We  are  told  that  the  sculptor  added  marks 
f  injury  and  earth-stains,  "  so  that,"  as  Condivi  says,  "  it  seemed  to  have 
leen  fashioned  many  years  before,  there  being  no  sleight  of  ingenuity 
adden  from  his  talent."  Before  we  reject  this  statuette  on  the  score  of 
ts  classic  style,  we  must  remember  that  Michelangelo  in  his  youth 


54  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

Saturday  we  arrived  safely,  and  went  at  once  to  vi 
the  Cardinal  di  San  Giorgio ;  and  I  presented  yoi' 
letter  to  him.    It  appeared  to  me  that  he  was  please 
to  see  me,  and  he  expressed  a  wish  that  I  should  ^ 
immediately  to  inspect  his  collection  of  statues, 
spent  the  whole  day  there,  and  for  that  reason  wj 
unable  to  deliver  all  your  letters.     Afterwards,  o 
Sunday,  the  Cardinal  came  into  the  new  house,  an 
had  me  sent  for.     I  went  to  him,  and  he  asked  wh?'' 
I  thought  about  the  things  which  I  had  seen,     j 
replied  by  stating  my  opinion,  and  certainly  I  ca' 
say  with  sincerity  that  there  are  many  fine  things  i 
the  collection.     Then  he  asked  me  whether  I  ha 
the  courage  to  make  some  beautiful  work  of  ar 

amused  himself  with  making  exact  copies  of  old  drawings,  which  l| 
passed  off  as  originals,  while  the  mask  of  the  Faun  shows  what  1 
could  do  in  imitation  of  the  antique.  One  notable  peculiarity  of  tl 
statuette  is  the  addition  of  the  two  snakes  to  the  sleeping  figure.  Son) 
allegory,  not  wholly  in  the  spirit  of  classic  art,  but  very  much  in  th 
line  of  fifteenth-century  thought,  seems  to  have  been  intended.  CondiV 
says  that  Michelangelo's  Cupid  existed  at  his  time  in  the  Palazz 
Gonzaga  at  Mantua.  De  Thou  (quoted  in  the  notes  to  Condivi,  p.  lyc 
saw  it  there  in  1573.  The  sleeping  Cupid  now  in  the  Liceo  was  brougl: 
there  from  the  palace  of  the  Dukes  of  Mantua.  At  the  same  time  vi 
should  remember  that  several  of  the  Mantuan  marbles  were  transferre 
to  Venice  after  the  sack  of  the  town  in  1630  ;  and  among  the  antiqu 
statues  in  the  Ducal  Palace  of  S.  Mark  there  are  two  Sleeping  Cupidi 
both  obviously  of  the  latest  Roman  decadence.  It  seems  impossible 
therefore,  to  decide  either  affirmatively  or  negatively  upon  the  questio: 
of  the  genuineness  of  this  work.  The  mere  fact  that  Buonarroti  plannei 
a  mystification  places  it,  in  the  absence  of  external  evidence,  beyond  th 
sphere  of  criticism.  I  must  add,  finally,  that  Springer  (vol.  i.  p.  306 
regards  the  Mantuan  Cupid  as  not  to  be  identified  with  Michelangelo's 
on  the  ground  that  Niccola  d'Arca  in  an  epigram  mentions  a  torch  a 
the  boy's  side. 


THE   CARDINAL   DI   S.   GIORGIO.  55 

answered  that  I  should  not  be  able  to  achieve 
nything  so  great,  but  that  he  should  see  what  I 
ould  do.     We  have  bought  a  piece  of  marble  for 

life-size  statue,  and  on  Monday  I  shall  begin  to 
7ork."^ 

After  describing  his  reception,  Michelangelo  pro- 
ijleeds  to  relate  the  efforts  he  was  making  to  regain 
ds  Sleeping  Cupid  from  Messer  Baldassare  :  "  After- 
shards,  I  gave  your  letter  to  Baldassare,  and  asked 
lim  for  the  child,  saying  I  was  ready  to  refund  his 
noney.  He  answered  very  roughly,  swearing  he 
vould  rather  break  it  in  a  hundred  pieces ;  he  had 
)ought  the  child,  and  it  was  his  property ;  he  pos- 
lessed  writings  which  proved  that  he  had  satisfied 
;he  person  who  sent  it  to  him,  and  was  under  no 
ipprehension  that  he  should  have  to  give  it  up. 
Chen  he  complained  bitterly  of  you,  saying  that  you 
lad  spoken  ill  of  him.  Certain  of  our  Florentines 
ought  to  accommodate  matters,  but  failed  in  their 
ttempt.  Now  I  look  to  coming  to  terms  through 
he  Cardinal ;  for  this  is  the  advice  of  Baldassare 
alducci.  What  ensues  I  will  report  to  you."  It  is 
lear  that  Lorenzo  di  Pierfrancesco,  being  convinced 
f  the  broker's  sharp  practice,  was  trying  to  recover 
he  Sleeping  Cupid  (the  child)  at  the  price  originally 
paid  for  it,  either  for  himself  or  for  Buonarroti. 
The  Cardinal  is  mentioned  as  being  the  most  likely 
person  to  secure  the  desired  result. 

Whether  Condivi  is  right  in  saying  that  S.  Giorgio 

^  Letters,  No.  cccxlii.  p.  375. 


(> 


LIFE   OF  MICHELANGELO. 


neglected  to  employ  Michelangelo  may  be  doubtec 
We  have  seen  from  this  letter  to  Lorenzo  that  tW 
Cardinal  bought  a  piece  of  marble  and  ordered  i\ 
life-size  statue.     But  nothing  more  is  heard  abod 
the  work.     Professor  Milanesi,  however,  has  pointed 
out  that  when  the  sculptor  was  thinking  of  leaving 
Eome  in  1497  he  wrote  to  his  father  on  the  ist  ol 
July  as  follows  :  "  Most  revered  and  beloved  father^ 
do  not  be  surprised  that  I  am  unable  to  return,  foi 
I  have  not  yet  settled  my  affairs  with  the  CardinaL 
and  I  do  not  wish  to  leave  until  I  am  properly  pai^ 
for  my  labour;  and  with  these   great  patrons  one! 
must  go  about  quietly,  since  they  cannot  be  comn 
pelled.     I  hope,   however,   at   any  rate  during  thei 
course  of  next  week,  to  have  completed  the  trans-' 
action."  ^ 

Michelangelo  remained  at  Rome  for  more  than 
two  years  after  the  date  of  the  letter  just  quoted. 
We  may  conjecture,  then,  that  he  settled  his  accounts 
with  the  Cardinal,  whatever  these  were,  and  we 
know  that  he  obtained  other  orders.  In  a  second 
letter  to  his  father,  August  19,  1497,  he  writes  thus: 
"  Piero  de'  Medici  gave  me  a  commission  for  a 
statue,  and  I  bought  the  marble.  But  I  did  not 
begin  to  work  upon  it,  because  he  failed  to  perform 
what  he  promised.  Wherefore  I  am  acting  on  my 
own  account,  and  am  making  a  statue  for  my  own 
pleasure.  I  bought  the  marble  for  five  ducats,  and 
it  turned  out  bad.     So  I  threw  my  money  away. 

1  Lettere,  No.  i.  p.  3,  and  editor's  note. 


FIRST   YEAR   IN   ROME.  57 

ow  I  have  bought  another  at  the  same  price,  and 
16  work  I  am  doing  is  for  my  amusement.  You 
ill  therefore  understand  that  I  too  have  large 
penses  and  many  troubles."  '^ 
During  the  first  year  of  his  residence  in  Rome 
letween  July  2,  1496,  and  August  19,  1497)  Michel- 
igelo  must  have  made  some  money,  else  he  could 
bt  have  bought  marble  and  have  worked  upon  his 
jfvn  account.  Vasari  asserts  that  he  remained  nearly 
reive  months  in  the  household  of  the  Cardinal,  and 
lat  he  only  executed  a  drawing  of  S.  Francis  re- 
viving the  stigmata,  which  was  coloured  by  a  barber 
I  S.  Giorgio's  service,  and  placed  in  the  Church  of 
,  Pietro  a  Montorio.^  Benedetto  Varchi  describes 
is  picture  as  having  been  painted  by  Buonarroti's 
n  hand.*  We  know  nothing  more  for  certain 
out  it.  How  he  earned  his  money  is,  therefore, 
explained,  except  upon  the  supposition  that  S. 
iorgio,  unintelligent  as  he  may  have  been  in  his 
tronage  of  art,  paid  him  for  work  performed.  I 
ay  here  add  that  the  Piero  de'  Medici  who  gave 
e  commission  mentioned  in  the  last  quotation  was 
e  exiled  head  of  the  ruling  family.  Nothing  had 
be  expected  from  such  a  man.  He  came  to  E-ome 
ii  order  to  be  near  the  Cardinal  Giovanni,  and  to 
Itiare  this  brother's  better  fortunes :  but  his  davs 
jnd  nights  were  spent  in  debauchery  among  the 
jompanions  and  accomplices  of  shameful  riot. 

»  Leltere,  No.  ii.  p.  4.  2  Yasari,  p.  169. 

2  Orazioiie  in  Morte  di  M.  A.,  cap.  16. 


58  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 


V. 

Michelangelo,  in  short,  like  most  young  artist 
was  struggling  into  fame  and  recognition.  Bot 
came  to  him  by  the  help  of  a  Roman  gentleman  an 
banker,  Messer  Jacopo  Gallo.  It  so  happened  tb 
an  intimate  Florentine  friend  of  Buonarroti,  th 
Baldassare  Balducci  mentioned  at  the  end  of  hi 
letter  to  Lorenzo  di  Pierfrancesco,  was  employed  i 
Gallons  house  of  business.^  It  is  probable,  there 
fore,  that  this  man  formed  the  link  of  connectio: 
between  the  sculptor  and  his  new  patron.  At  a' 
events,  Messer  Gallo  purchased  a  Bacchus,  whic 
now  adorns  the  sculpture-gallery  of  the  Bargelk 
and  a  Cupid,  which  may  possibly  be  the  statue  a 
South  Kensington. 

Condivi  says  that  this  gentleman,  "  a  man  of  fin^ 
intelligence,  employed  him  to  execute  in  his  owi 
house  a  marble  Bacchus,  ten  palms  in  height,  th( 
form  and  aspect  of  which  correspond  in  all  parts  t( 
the  meaning  of  ancient  authors.  The  face  of  tb 
youth  is  jocund,  the  eyes  wandering  and  wanton 
as  is  the  wont  with  those  who  are  too  much  addictec 
to  a  taste  for  wine.  In  his  right  hand  he  holds  { 
cup,  lifting  it  to   drink,  and  gazing  at  it  like  on( 

1  There  are  two  letters  from  Giovanni  Balducci  to  Michelangelo  pre 
served  in  the  Archivio  Buonarroti,  Cod.  vi.  Nos.  45,  46.     Both  bel 
to  the  summer  of  1506. 


1 


THE   BACCHUS.  59 

'^ho  takes  delight  in  that  liquor,  of  which  he  was  the 

rst  discoverer.     For  this  reason,  too,  the  sculptor 

as  wreathed  his  head  with  vine-tendrils.     On  his 

3ft  arm  hangs  a  tiger-skin,  the  heast  dedicated  to 

acchus,  as  being  very  partial  to  the  grape.     Here 

e  artist  chose  rather  to  introduce  the  skin  than 

e  animal  itself,  in  order  to  hint  that  sensual  in- 

^tl||ulgence  in  the  pleasure  of  the  grape-juice  leads  at 

st  to  loss  of  life.      With  the  hand  of  this  arm 

6  holds  a  bunch  of  grapes,  which  a  little  satyr, 

ouched  below  him,  is  eating  on  the  sly  with  glad 

md  eager   gestures.      The   child   may  seem  to  be 

ven  years,  the  Bacchus  eighteen  of  age."  ^     This 

lescription    is    comparatively   correct,    except    that 

vondivi  is    obviously  mistaken  when   he   supposes 

hat  Michelangelo's   young  Bacchus  faithfully  em- 

ijodies  the  Greek  spirit.     The  Greeks  never  forgot, 

n  all  their  representations  of  Dionysos,  that  he  was 

I  mystic   and   enthusiastic   deity.      Joyous,  volup- 

iuous,  androgynous,   he  yet  remains  the   god  who 

brought  strange  gifts    and    orgiastic   rites  to  men. 

lis  followers,  Silenus,  Bacchantes,  Fauns,  exhibit, 

n  their  self-abandonment  to  sensual  joy,  the  opera- 

Idon  of  his  genius.     The  deity  descends  to  join  their 

evels   from   his    clear   Olympian  ether,  but   he   is 

lot  troubled  by  the  fumes  of  intoxication.     Michel- 

imgelo  has  altered  this  conception.     Bacchus,  with 

laim,  is  a  terrestrial  young  man,  upon  the  verge  of 

(toppling  over  into  drunkenness.     The  value  of  the 

^  Condi vi,  p.  18. 


6o  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

work  is  its   realism.      The   attitude    could   not 
sustained  in  actual  life  for  a  moment  without  eithl 
the  goblet  spilling  its  liquor  or  the  body  reelh 
side-ways.      Not    only  are   the    eyes  wavering  ai 
wanton,  but  the  muscles  of  the  mouth  have  relaxe 
into  a  tipsy  smile  ;    and,  instead   of  the  tiger-ski 
being  suspended  from  the  left  arm,  it  has  slippc 
down,  and  is  only  kept  from  falling  by  the  looj 
grasp  of  the  trembling  hand.     Nothing,  again,  coui 
be  less  godlike  than  the  face  of  Bacchus.     It  is  tl 
face  of  a  not  remarkably  good-looking  model,  an 
the  head  is  too   small  both  for  the  body  and  tl: 
heavy  crown  of  leaves.      As  a  study  of  incipiei 
intoxication,  when  the  whole  person  is  disturbed  I 
drink,  but  human  dignity  has  not  yet  yielded  1 
a  bestial  impulse,  this  statue  proves  the  energy  < 
Michelangelo's  imagination.      The  physical  beaui 
of  his    adolescent   model   in   the   limbs    and   bod 
redeems  the  grossness  of  the  motive  by  the  inaliei 
able  charm  of  health  and  carnal  comeliness.     Finall; 
the  technical  merits  of  the  work  cannot  too  strong! 
be  insisted  on.     The  modelling  of  the  thorax,  th 
exquisite  roundness  and  fleshiness  of  the  thighs  an 
arms  and  belly,  the  smooth  skin-surface  expresse 
throughout  in  marble,  will  excite  admiration  in  a 
who  are  capable  of  appreciating  this  aspect  of  th 
statuary's  art.     Michelangelo  produced  nothing  moi 
finished  in  execution,  if  we  except  the  Piet&,  at  1^ 
Peter's.     His  Bacchus  alone  is  sufficient  to  explode 
theory  favoured  by  some  critics,  that,  left  to  wor 


CRITICISM   OF  THE   BACCHUS.  6i 

ihindered,  he  would  still  have  preferred  a  certain 

Lgueness,  a  certain  want  of  polish  in  his  marbles. 

I  Nevertheless,  the  Bacchus  leaves  a  disagreeable 

1 1  ipression  on  the  mind — as  disagreeable  in  its  own 

k  ay  as  that  produced  by  the  Christ  of  the  Minerva. 

■si  hat  must  be  because  it  is  wrong  in  spiritual  con- 

ipj  jption — brutally   materialistic    where   it   ought   to 

loi  ive  been  noble   or  graceful.     In  my  opinion,  the 

ank,   joyous   naturalism    of   Sansovino's   Bacchus 

ilso  in  the  Bargello)  possesses  more  of  true  Greek 

Lspiration  than  Michelangelo's.      If  Michelangelo 

Leant  to  carve  a  Bacchus,  he  failed  ;  if  he  meant 

)  imitate  a  physically  desirable  young  man  in  a 

ate  of  drunkenness,  he  succeeded. 

What  Shelley  wrote  upon  this  statue  may  here  be 

troduced,^  since  it  combines  both  points  of  view  in 

criticism  of  much  spontaneous  vigour. 

"  The  countenance  of  this  figure  is  the  most  re-  ^^"x/ 

olting  mistake  of  the  spirit  and  meaning  of  Bacchus. 

t  looks  drunken,  brutal,  and  narrow-minded,  and 

as  an  expression  of  dissoluteness  the  most  revolting. 

ihe  lower  part  of  the  figure  is  stiff,  and  the  manner 

which  the  shoulders  are  united  to  the  breast,  and 

e  neck  to  the  head,  abundantly  inharmonious.     It 

altogether  without  unity,  as  was  the  idea  of  the 

eity  of  Bacchus  in  the  conception  of  a  Catholic. 

n  the  other  hand,  considered  merely  as  a  piece  of 

orkmanship,   it   has    great  merits.     The    arms  are 

Executed  in  the  most  perfect  and  manly  beauty ;  the 

1  Forman's  edition  of  the  Prose  Works,  vol.  iii.  p.  71. 


62  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO.  H 

body  is  conceived  with  great  energy,  and  the  lines 
which  describe  the  sides  and  thighs,  and  the  mannei 
in  which  they  mingle  into  one  another,  are  of  th( 
highest  order  of  boldness  and  beauty.  It  wants,  as 
a  work  of  art,  unity  and  simplicity ;  as  a  representa- 
tion of  the  Greek  deity  of  Bacchus,  it  wants  every- 
thing." 

Jacopo  Gallo  is  said  to  have  also  purchased 
Cupid  from  Michelangelo.  It  has  been  suggested^ 
with  great  plausibility,  that  this  Cupid  was  the^' 
piece  which  Michelangelo  began  when  Piero  de'j 
Medici's  commission  fell  through,  and  that  it  there- 1 
fore  preceded  the  Bacchus  in  date  of  execution.  It 
has  also  been  suggested  that  the  so-called  Cupid  at 
South  Kensington  is  the  work  in  question.  We 
have  no  authentic  information  to  guide  us  in  the 
matter.^  But  the  South  Kensington  Cupid  is  cer- 
tainly a  production  of  the  master's  early  manhood. 
It  was  discovered  some  forty  years  ago,  hidden  away 
in  the  cellars  of  the  Gualfonda  (E-ucellai)  Gardens  at 
Florence,  by  Professor  Miliarini  and  the  famous  Flo- 
rentine sculptor  Santarelli.  On  a  cursory  inspection 
they  both  declared  it  to  be  a  genuine  Michelangelo.^ 

1  Springer  (vol.  i.  p.  22)  points  out  that  while  Condivi  mentions  a 
Cupid,  Ulisse  Aldovrandi,  who  also  saw  the  statue  in  Messer  Gallons 
house  at  Rome,  talks  of  an  Apollo,  quite  naked,  with  a  quiver  at  his 
side  and  an  urn  at  his  feet. 

2  Heath  "Wilson,  p.  33.  Catalogue  of  the  Italian  Sculpture  at  the 
South  Kensington  Museum^  by  J.  C.  Eobinson,  pp.  134,  135.  The 
want  of  finish  in  certain  portions  of  the  marble  is  the  only  sign  which 
makes  me  doubt  its  attribution   to  Michelangelo's  first  Roman  visit. 


THE   SOUTH   KENSINGTON   CUPID.  63 

left  arm  was  broken,  the  right  hand  damaged, 

the  hair  had  never  received  the  sculptor's  final 
ches.  Santarelli  restored  the  arm,  and  the  Cupid 
sed  by  purchase  into  the  possession  of  the  English 

on.  This  fine  piece  of  sculpture  is  executed 
Michelangelo's  proudest,  most  dramatic  manner. 
3  muscular  young  man  of  eighteen,  a  model  of 
►erb  adolescence,  kneels  upon  his  right  knee,  while 

right  hand  is  lowered  to  lift  an  arrow  from  the 

und.     The  left  hand  is  raised  above   the  head, 

I  holds  the  bow,  while  the  left  leg  is  so  placed, 

h  the  foot  firmly  pressed  upon  the  ground,  as  to7 

icate  that  in  a  moment  the  youth  will  rise,  fit/ 

shaft  to  the  string,  and  send  it  whistling  at  hi  A 
rersary.     This  choice  of  a  momentary  attitude  is\ 
inently  characteristic  of  Michelangelo's  style  ;  and,  \ 
ve  are  really  to  believe  that  he  intended  to  por-  \ 
y  the  god  of  love,  it  offers  another  instance  ol 

independence  of  classical  tradition.  No  Greek 
uld  have  thus  represented  Er6s.  The  lyric  poets, 
eed,  Ibycus  and  Anacreon,  imaged  him  as  a  fierce 
^asive  deity,  descending  like  the  whirlwind  on  an 
i,  or  striking  at  his  victim  with  an  axe.  But  these 
aantic  ideas  did  not  find  expression,  so  far  as  I  am 
are,  in  antique  plastic  art.  Michelangelo's  Cupid  is 
jrefore  as  original  as  his  Bacchus.  Much  as  critics 
ve  written,  and  with  justice,  upon  the  classical  ten- 
Qcies  of  the  Italian  Renaissance,  they  have  failed 

at  else  of  certain  he  wrought  there,  shows  a  most  scrupulous  seeking 
r  completion. 


64  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

to  point  out  that  the  Paganism  of  the  Cinque  Cen 
rarely  involved  a  servile  imitation  of  the  antique 
a  sympathetic  intelligence  of  its  spirit.    Least  of  g 
do  we  find  either  of  these  qualities  in  Michelangel 
He  drew  inspiration  from  his  own  soul,  and  he  wei 
straight  to  Nature  for  the  means  of  expressing  tl 
conception  he  had  formed.     Unlike  the  Greeks,  1: 
invariably  preferred  the  particular  to  the  universa 
the  critical  moment  of  an  action  to  suggestions  ( 
the  possibilities  of  action.     He  carved  an  individui 
being,  not  an  abstraction  or  a  generalisation  of  pej 
sonality.     The  Cupid  supplies  us  with  a  splendi 
illustration   of  this  criticism.     Being   a  product  c 
his  early  energy,   before  he  had  formed   a  certai 
manneristic  way  of  seeing  Nature  and  of  reproducin 
what  he  saw,  it  not  only  casts  light  upon  the  spoD 
taneous  working  of  his  genius,  but  it  also  shows  hoi 
the  young  artist  had  already  come  to  regard  the  in 
most  passion  of  the  soul.     When  quite  an  old  man 
rhyming  those  rough   platonic    sonnets,  he  alway 
spoke   of  love   as   masterful    and   awful.     For  hi 
austere  and  melancholy  nature,  Er6s  was  no  tende 
or  light-winged  youngling,  but  a  masculine  tyrant 
the  tamer  of  male   spirits.     Therefore   this   Cupid 
adorable  in  the  power  and  beauty  of  his  vigoroui 
manhood,  may  well  remain  for  us  the  myth  or  symbo 
of  love  as  Michelangelo  imagined  that  emotion.     Ii 
composition,  the  figure  is  from   all  points  of  \ie^ 
admirable,  presenting  a  series  of  nobly  varied  line- 
harmonies.     All   we   have   to   regret   is   that  time 


o 

I 

n 

o 

w 
en 


NATIONAL   GALLERY   MADONNA.  65 

eposure  to  weather,  and  vulgar  outrage  should  have 
soiled  the  surface  of  the  marble.^ 


V. 

It  is  natural  to  turn  from  the  Cupid  to  another 
)rk  belonging  to  the  English  nation,  which  has 
3ently  been  ascribed  to  Michelangelo.  I  mean 
Madonna,  with  Christ,  S.  John,  and  four 
a.endant  male  figures,  once  in  the  possession  of 
^r.  H.  Labouchere,  and  now  in  the  National 
Cdlery.  We  have  no  authentic  tradition  regarding 
lis  tempera  painting,  which  in  my  judgment  is 
id  most  beautiful  of  the  easel  pictures  attributed 
t  Michelangelo.  Internal  evidence  from  style  ren- 
drs  its  genuineness  in  the  highest  degree  probable. 
h  one  else  upon  the  close  of  the  fifteenth  century 
VLS  capable  of  producing  a  composition  at  once 
s  complicated,  so  harmonious,  and  so  clear  as  the 
§oup  formed  by  Madonna,  Christ  leaning  on  her 
kee  to  point  a  finger  at  the  book  she  holds,  and 
te  young  S.  John  turned  round  to  combine  these 
iiures  with  the  exquisitely  blended  youths  behind 
tm.  Unfortunately  the  two  angels  or  genii  upon 
tB  left  hand  are  unfinished ;  but  had  the  picture 
ten  completed,  we  should  probably  have  been  able 

There  is  reason  to  think  that  it  stood  some  two  hundred  years  in 
t]  open  air,  and  that  it  was  once  used  as  a  mark  for  pistol-shooting. 
b/ol.  i.  e 


66  LIFE   OF  MICHELANGELO. 

to  point  out  another  magnificent  episode  in  t 
composition,  determined  by  the  transverse  line  a 
ried  from  the  hand  upon  the  last  youth's  should 
through  the  open  book  and  the  upraised  arm 
Christ,  down  to  the  feet  of  S.  John  and  the  h 
genius  on  the  right  side.  Florentine  painters  h 
been'  wont  to  place  attendant  angels  at  both  sid 
of  their  enthroned  Madonnas.  Fine  examples  mig 
be  chosen  from  the  work  of  Filippino  Lippi  a 
Botticelli.  But  their  angels  were  winged  a 
clothed  like  acolytes ;  the  Madonna  was  seated 
a  rich  throne  or  under  a  canopy,  with  altar-candl 
wreaths  of  roses,  flowering  lilies.  It  is  characteris 
of  Michelangelo  to  adopt  a  conventional  motive,  a 
to  treat  it  with  brusque  originality.  In  this  picti 
there  are  no  accessories  to  the  figures,  and  t 
attendant  angels  are  Tuscan  lads  half  draped 
succinct  tunics.  The  style  is  rather  that  of  a  f 
relief  in  stone  than  of  a  painting ;  and  though 
may  feel  something  of  Ghirlandajo's  influence,  t 
spirit  of  Donatello  and  Luca  della  Robbia  are  m( 
apparent.  That  it  was  the  work  of  an  inexperienc 
painter  is  shown  by  the  failure  to  indicate  pictoi 
planes.  In  spite  of  the  marvellous  and  intric? 
beauty  of  the  line-composition,  it  lacks  that  efi'^ 
of  graduated  distances  which  might  perhaps  hi 
been  secured  by  execution  in  bronze  or  mart 
The  types  have  not  been  chosen  with  regard  to  id' 
loveliness  or  dignity,  but  accurately  studied  frt 
living  models.     This  is  very  obvious  in  the  he? 


NATIONAL   GALLERY   ENTOMBMENT.  67 

Christ  and  S.  John.     The  two  adolescent  genii 

(1  the  right  hand  possess  a  high  degree  of  natural 

I  ace.      Yet   even   here  what    strikes  one  most  is 

'^  ue  charm   of  their  attitude,  the  lovely  interlacing 

('  their  arms    and   breasts,  the    lithe    alertness   of 

le  one  lad  contrasted  with  the  thoughtful  leaning 

nguor  of  his    comrade.      Only  perhaps   in    some 

^'  I'awings  of  combined  male  figures  made  by  Ingres 

I  his  picture   of  the   Golden   Age,  have  lines  of 

][ual  dignity  and   simple    beauty  been  developed. 

'  do  not  think  that  this  Madonna,  supposing  it  to 

3  a  genuine  piece  by  Michelangelo,  belongs  to  the 

sriod  of  his  first  residence  in  Rome.     In  spite  of 

'  :s  immense   intellectual   power,   it   has   an   air   of 

^Mamaturity.     Probably  Heath  Wilson  was  right  in 

^'jsigning  it  to  the    time    spent  at   Florence    after 

^  jorenzo   de'   Medici's    death,  when   the   artist   was 

'^pout  twenty  years  of  age.^ 

^'  1 1  may  take  this  occasion  for  dealing  summarily 
I'Hth  the  Entombment  in  the  National  Gallery. 
■"'  Ihe  picture,  which  is  half  finished,  has  no  pedigree. 
^^i  was  bought   out   of  the   collection  of  Cardinal 

^''fesch,   and  pronounced   to   be    a  Michelangelo  by 

is  I 

,  ;  ^  I  am  indebted  to  Prof.  Middleton  for  some  observations  on  this  pic- 
*  lie.  He  points  out  the  hesitating  brush-work,  timid  use  of  hatched 
|ji  jies,  and  so  forth,  in  the  technique.  We  know  so  little  about  Michel- 
I  agelo's  first  essays  at  painting,  and  he  so  strenuously  asserted  that 
'  anting  was  not  his  trade,  that  I  do  not  feel  the  indecision  noticeable 
I  [  the  workmanship  of  this  panel  to  be  stringent  evidence  against  its 
|jj  puineness.  At  any  rate,  if  we  refuse  to  acknowledge  it  as  a  piece  of 
;.8  own  handiwork,  we  must  accept  it  as  a  careful  transcript  from  his 
^^  'isign  by  one  who,  like  himself,  was  not  by  trade  a  painter. 


68  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

the  Munich  painter  Cornelius.^  Good  judges  ha 
adopted  this  attribution,  and  to  differ  from  th( 
requires  some  hardihood.  Still  it  is  painful 
believe  that  at  any  period  of  his  life  Michelang( 
could  have  produced  a  composition  so  discordal, 
so  unsatisfactory  in  some  anatomical  details,  p 
feelingless  and  ugly.  It  bears  indubitable  traijs 
of  his  influence;  that  is  apparent  in  the  figure 
the  dead  Christ.  But  this  colossal  nude,  with  t 
massive  chest  and  attenuated  legs,  reminds  us 
his  manner  in  old  age ;  whereas  the  rest  of  t 
picture  shows  no  trace  of  that  manner.  I  j 
inclined  to  think  that  the  Entombment  was  t 
production  of  a  second-rate  craftsman,  worki 
upon  some  design  made  by  Michelangelo  at  t 
advanced  period  when  the  Passion  of  our  Lc 
occupied  his  thoughts  in  Eome.  Even  so,  the  spi 
of  the  drawing  must  have  been  imperfectly  assin 
ated;  and,  what  is  more  puzzling,  the  compositi 
does  not  recall  the  style  of  Michelangelo's  old  a 
The  colouring,  so  far  as  we  can  understand  it,  rati 
suggests  Pontormo. 

1  Mr.  Robert  Macpherson  found  it  in  a  dealer's  shop  at  Rom( 
1846,  completely  painted  over.  He  had  it  cleaned,  and  the  under  1 
face  was  assigned  to  Michelangelo. 


CARDINAL   DI   S.    DIONIGI.  69 


VI, 


Michelangelo's  good  friend,  Jacopo  Gallo,  was 
gain  helpful  to  him  in  the  last  and  greatest  work 
ti'  hich  he  produced  during  this  Roman  residence. 
Iff  he  Cardinal  Jean  de  la  Groslaye  de  Villiers 
li  rangois,  Abbot  of  S.  Denys,  and  commonly  called 
us  y  Italians  the  Cardinal  di  San  Dionigi,^  wished  to 
f  ave  a  specimen  of  the  young  sculptor's  handiwork. 
I  Lccordingly  articles  were  drawn  up  to  the  following 
n  Iffect  on  August  26,  1498 :  "Let  it  be  known  and 
it  lanifest  to  whoso  shall  read  the  ensuing  document, 
r  lat  the  most  Rev.  Cardinal  of  S.  Dionigi  has  thus 
li  greed  with  the  master  Michelangelo,  sculptor  of 
f  Florence,  to  wit,  that  the  said  master  shall  make  a 
sii  fieik  of  marble  at  his  own  cost ;  that  is  to  say, 
it  Virgin  Mary  clothed,  with  the  dead  Christ  in 
It  ier  arms,  of  the  size  of  a  proper  man,  for  the  price 
i  jf  450  golden  ducats  of  the  Papal  mint,  within 
he   term   of  one  year  from  the  day  of  the  com- 

lencement    of  the   work."      Next    follow    clauses 

III . 

idi  egarding  the  payment  of  the  money,  whereby  the 
Cardinal  agrees  to  disburse  sums  in  advance.  The 
ontract  concludes  with  a  guarantee  and  surety 
;iven  by  Jacopo  Gallo.  *'And  I,  Jacopo  Gallo, 
)ledge  my  word  to   his   most  Rev.   Lordship  that 

I  ^  He  came  in  1493  as  ambassador  from  Charles  VIII.  to  Alexander 
''I.,  when  the  Borgia  gave  him  the  scarlet  hat. 


70  LIFE   OF  MICHELANGELO. 

the    said    Michelangelo    will   finish   the    said   wo 
within   one  year,   and  that   it   shall   be   the   fine 
work  in  marble  which  Rome  to-day  can  show,  a: 
that  no  master  of  our  days  shall  be  able  to  prodn 
a  better.      A^nd,  in  like  manner,  on  the  other  sic 
I  pledge  my  word  to  the   said  Michelangelo  th 
the  most   Eev.    Card,   will   disburse   the   paymei 
according    to    the    articles    above    engrossed, 
witness   which,   I,    Jacopo    Gallo,    have   made   tljj 
present  writing  with  my  own  hand,   according 
date  of  year,  month,  and  day  as  above."  ^ 

The  Piet^  raised  Michelangelo  at  once  to  t 
highest  place  among  the  artists  of  his  time,  a: 
it  still  remains  unrivalled  for  the  union  of  sublii 
aesthetic  beauty  with  profound  religious  feelii 
The  mother  of  the  dead  Christ  is  seated  on  a  sto 
at  the  foot  of  the  cross,  supporting  the  body  of  1 
son  upon  her  knees,  gazing  sadly  at  his  woundfl 
side,  and  gently  lifting  her  left  hand,  as  thou  i 
to  say,  "  Behold  and  see ! "  She  has  the  sm|l 
head  and  heroic  torso  used  by  Michelangelo 
suggest  immense  physical  force.  We  feel  that  su 
a  woman  has  no  difficulty  in  holding  a  man's  corj 
upon  her  ample  lap  and  in  her  powerful  an 
Her  face,  which  differs  from  the  female  type 
afterwards  preferred,  resembles  that  of  a  youi 
woman.  For  this  he  was  rebuked  by  critics  w 
thought  that  her  age  should  correspond  more  natx 
ally  to  that  of  her  adult  son.     Condi vi  reports  tl 

1  Gotti,  ii.  p.  33.  I 


I  THE   MADONNA   DELLA   FEBBRE.  71 

wi  ichelangelo  explained  his  meaning  in  the  follow- 
k  g  words :  "  Do  you  not  know  that  chaste  women 
%i  aintain  their  freshness  far  longer  than  the  un- 
:o(ii  aste?  How  much  more  would  this  be  the  case 
'  si  ith  a  virgin,  into  whose  breast  there  never  crept 
)  tl  e  least  lascivious  desire  which  could  affect  the 
niei  )dy  ?  Nay,  I  will  go  further,  and  hazard  the  belief 
at  this  unsullied  bloom   of  youth,   beside    being 

I  aintained  in  her  by  natural  causes,  m^  have  been 
ig  iraculously  wrought  to  convince  the  world  of  the 

Irginity  and  perpetual  purity  of  the  Mother.  This 
as  not  necessary  for  the  Son.  On  the  contrary, 
L  order  to  prove  that  the  Son  of  God  took  upon 
lifimself,  as  in  very  truth  he  did  take,  a  human 
liijody,  and  became  subject  to  all  that  an  ordinary 
tojiian  is  subject  to,  with  the  exception  of  sin ;  the 
Ijuman  nature  of  Christ,  instead  of  being  superseded  ^ 

iliiy  the  divine,  was  left  to  the  operation  of  natural 
lujjjiws,  so  that  his  person  revealed  the  exact  age  to 
mij^hich  he  had  attained.  You  need  not,  therefore, 
liiarvel  if,  having  regard  to  these  considerations, 
11(1  made  the  most  Holy  Virgin,  Mother  of  God, 
|jauch  younger  relatively  to  her  Son  than  women  of 
ijier  years  usually  appear,  and  left  the  Son  such  as 

iis  time  of  life  demanded."^      **This  reasoning," 
dds  Condivi,  ''was  worthy  of  some  learned  theo- 
)gian,  and  would  have  been  little  short  of  marvel- 
jious  in  most  men,  but  not  in  him,  whom  God  and 
.Mature  fashioned,  not  merely  to  be  peerless  in  his 

1  Condivi,  p.  20. 


72  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

handiwork,  but  also    capable   of  the  divinest  c( 
cepts,  as  innumerable  discourses  and  writings  whi| 
we  have  of  his  make  clearly  manifest." 

The    Christ    is    also    somewhat    youthful,    aMp 
modelled  with  the  utmost  delicacy ;   suggesting  ipl 
lack    of    strength,    but   subordinating    the    idea 
physical  power  to  that  of  a   refined  and  spiriti 
nature.      Nothing    can    be    more    lovely    than    t^ 
hands,    the    feet,    the    arms,    relaxed    in    slumb( 
Death    becomes    immortally   beautiful    in    that    il 
cumbent    figure,    from    which    the    insults    of   t| 
scourge,    the    cross,    the    brutal    lance    have    bee 
erased.     Michelangelo  did  not  seek  to  excite  pif 
or   to    stir   devotion   by   having   recourse    to   thoj 
mediaeval  ideas  which  were  so  passionately  express^ 
in  S.  Bernard's  hymn  to  the  Crucified.    The  sesthel 
tone  of  his  dead  Christ  is  rather  that  of  some  swel 
solemn  strain  of  cathedral  music,  some  motive  fro 
a  mass  of  Palestrina  or  a  Passion  of  Sebastian  Bacl 
Almost  involuntarily  there  rises  to  the  memory  th 
line  composed  by  Bion  for  the  genius  of  earth] 
loveliness  bewailed  by  everlasting  beauty — 

E'en  as  a  corpse  he  is  fair,  fair  corpse  as  fallen  aslumber. 

It  is  said  that  certain  Lombards  passing  by  ar 
admiring  the  Piet^  ascribed  it  to  Christoforo  Sola 
of  Milan,  surnamed  II  Gobbo.  Michelangel 
having  happened  to  overhear  them,  shut  himse 
up   in    the    chapel,    and    engraved    the    belt   upc 


OBSEQUIES   OF  ALEXANDER   VI.  73 

ladonna's  breast   with    his    own    name.     This   he 
ever  did  with  any  other  of  his  works.  ^ 
This  masterpiece   of  highest   art  combined  with 
lure  religious  feeling  was  placed  in  the  old  Basilica 
'f  S.  Peter's,   in  a  chapel  dedicated  to  Our  Lady 
if  the  Fever,    Madonna   della  Febbre.       Here,    on 
^t  he  night    of   August  19,    1503,  it  witnessed    one 
1  if  those   horrid   spectacles  which  in  Italy  at  that 
^li  )eriod  so  often  intervened  to  interrupt  the  rhythm 
)f  romance  and  beauty  and  artistic  melody.      The 
I  lead  body  of  Roderigo  Borgia,  Alexander  VI.,  lay 
'8  n  state  from  noon  onwards   in  front  of  the  high 
iltar ;  but  since  *'  it  was  the  most  repulsive,  mon- 
strous,   and   deformed    corpse  which   had    ever  yet 
jeen  seen,  without  any  form  or  figure  of  humanity, 
jhame  compelled  them  to  partly  cover  it."     "Late 
in  the  evening  it  was  transferred  to  the  chapel  of 
Our  Lady  of  the  Fever,  and  deposited  in  a  corner 
by  six  hinds    or  porters  and  two   carpenters,   who 
had   made   the   coffin   too    narrow   and   too   short. 
Joking   and  jeering,    they  stripped    the   tiara    and 
the  robes  of  office  from  the  body,  wrapped   it  up 

(in  an  old  carpet,  and  then  with  force  of  fists  and 
feet  rammed  it  down  into  the  box,  without  torches, 
without  a  ministering  priest,  without  a  single 
*person  to  attend  and  bear  a  consecrated  candle."^ 
Of  such  sort  was   the   vigil   kept   by  this    solemn 

1  Vasari,  p.  171. 

^  Dispdcci  di  Antonio  Giustinian^  ed.  P.  Villari,  Firenze,  Le  Monnier, 
1876,  vol.  ii.  pp.  124,  458. 


74  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

statue,  so  dignified  in  grief  and  sweet  in  death 
at  the  ignoble  obsequies  of  him  who,  occupying  th( 
loftiest  throne  of  Christendom,  incarnated  the  leas 
erected  spirit  of  his  age.  The  ivory-smooth  whitt 
corpse  of  Christ  in  marble,  set  over  against  that  fester 
ing  corpse  of  his  Vicar  on  earth,  '*  black  as  a  piece 
of  cloth  or  the  blackest  mulberry,"  what  a  hideous 
contrast !  ^ 


VII. 

It  may  not  be  inappropriate  to  discuss  the  ques- 
tion of  the  Bruges  Madonna  here.  This  is  a  marbl 
statue,  well  placed  in  a  chapel  of  Notre  Dame 
relieved  against  a  black  marble  niche,  with  excel 
lent  illumination  from  the  side.  The  style  is  un 
doubtedly  Michelangelesque,  the  execution  care 
ful,  the  surface-finish  exquisite,  and  the  type  a 
the  Madonna  extremely  similar  to  that  of  the  Piet^ 
at  S.  Peter's.  She  is  seated  in  an  attitude  oi 
almost  haughty  dignity,  with  the  left  foot  raisec 
upon  a  block  of  stone.  The  expression  of  he 
features  is  marked  by  something  of  sternness,  whid 
seems  inherent  in  the  model.  Between  her  knees 
stands,   half  reclining,  half  as    though  wishing  tc 

^  Industrious  and  unimaginative  scholars  may  do  what  they  chooa 
to  whitewash  Alexander  VI.,  and  excuse  him  on  the  score  of  his  beinj 
a  child  of  the  age  ;  but  they  cannot  annul  the  fact  that  this  man,  ii 
all  his  appetites,  acts,  and  ambitions,  directly  contradicted  the  principlei 
for  which  Christ  lived  and  died- 


lit 


THE   BRUGES   MADONNA.  75 

bep  downwards  from  the  throne,  her  infant  Son. 
)ne  arm  rests  upon  his  mother's  knee  ;  the  right 
and  is  thrown  round  to  clasp  her  left.  This 
ttitude  gives  grace  of  rhythm  to  the  lines  of  his 
ude  body.  True  to  the  realism  which  controlled 
^^  llichelangelo  at  the  commencement  of  his  art 
areer,  the  head  of  Christ,  who  is  but  a  child, 
lightly  overloads  his  slender  figure.  Physically 
16  resembles  the  Infant  Christ  of  our  National 
Jallery  picture,  but  has  more  of  charm  and  sweet- 
less.  All  these  indications  point  to  a  genuine 
)roduct  of  Michelangelo's  first  Roman  manner  ;  and 
he  position  of  the  statue  in  a  chapel  ornamented 
)y  the  Bruges  family  of  Mouscron  renders  the  attri- 
)ution  almost  certain.^  However,  we  have  only  two 
luthentic  records  of  the  work  among  the  documents 
it  our  disposal.  Condivi,  describing  the  period 
)f  Michelangelo's  residence  in  Florence  (1501- 
[504),  says:  ''He  also  cast  in  bronze  a  Madonna 
ps^ith  the  Infant  Christ,  which  certain  Flemish 
nerchants  of  the  house  of  Mouscron,  a  most  noble 
family  in  their  own  land,  bought  for  two  hundred 
iucats,  and  sent  to  Flanders."  ^     A  letter  addressed 

1  The  external  evidence  in  favour  of  its  genuineness  is  also  strong. 
3ee  VCEuvre  et  la  Vie,  p.  253.    Albert  Dlirer  in  1521,  and  Marcus  von 

IWaernewyck  in  1560,  both  ascribe  a  Madonna  in  Notre  Dame  to 
■Michelangelo.  We  have,  moreover,  an  original  drawing  by  Michel- 
langelo  in  the  Taylor  Gallery  at  Oxford,  which  was  clearly  made  for  it. 
"See  Robinson's  Critical  Account,  &c.,  p.  18. 

2  Condivi,  p.  23.  Vasari,  following  and  altering  Condivi's  text, 
alludes  negligently  to  "a  Madonna  of  bronze  in  a  round,  cast  for 
certain  Flemish  merchants  of  the  Moiscron  family"  (Vasari,  p.  176). 


LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

under  date  August  4,  1506,  by  Giovanni  Balducc 
in  Rome  to  Michelangelo  at  Florence,  proves  thgj 
some  statue   which  vras  destined   for  Flanders  re 
mained  among  the  sculptor's  property  at  Florence) 
Balducci  uses  the  feminine  gender  in  writing  aboi 
this  work,   which  justifies  us   in   thinking  that  il 
may  have  been  a  Madonna.     He  says  that  he  hal 
found  a  trustworthy  agent  to  convey  it  to  Viareggicj 
and  to  ship  it  thence  to  Bruges,  where  it  will  bj 
delivered  into  the  hands  of  the  heir  of  John  anJ 
Alexander  Mouscron  and  Co.,  "  as  being  their  prol 
perty."^      This    statue,    in    all   probability,    is    thi 
**  Madonna  in  marble  "  about  which  MichelangeLi 
wrote   to   his   father   from    Borne    on   the    31st   0 
January  1507,  and  which  he  begged  his  father  t<| 
keep  hidden  in  their  dwelling.^     It  is   difficult  t(l 
reconcile  Condi vi's  statement  with  Balducci's  lettei 
The  former  says  that  the  Madonna  bought  by  the 
Mouscron   family  was  cast  in  bronze  at  Florence] 
The   Madonna   in   the   Mouscron  Chapel  at  Notre 
Dame  is  a  marble.      I  think  we  may  assume  thail 
the  Bruges  Madonna  is  the   piece  which  Michel 
angelo   executed   for   the    Mouscron   brothers,   an(}| 
that  Condivi  was   wrong   in   believing   it   to   have 
been   cast   in   bronze.     That   the   statue   was   sent! 
some  time  after  the  order  had  been  given,  appears 


1  Gotti,  ii.  51. 

2  Lettere,  No.  iii.  Milanese  conjectures  tliat  the  "Madonna  inl 
marble  "  was  the  little  early  bas-relief.  But  I  do  not  see  what  reasoDJ 
Michelangelo  had  for  wishing  that  not  to  be  seen. 


MxVDONNA   AND    ChILD    AT    BuUGES 


MICHELANGELO'S   FAMILY.  77 

Irom  the  fact  that  Balducci  consigned  it  to  the 
jieir  of  John  and  Alexander,  "  as  being  their  pro- 
lerty ; "  but  it  cannot  be  certain  at  what  exact  date 
It  was  begun  and  finished. 


VIII. 

While  Michelangelo  was  acquiring  immediate 
belebrity  and  immortal  fame  by  these  three  statues, 
po  different  in  kind  and  hitherto  unrivalled  in 
lirtistic  excellence,  his  family  lived  somewhat 
Wretchedly  at  Florence.  Lodovico  had  lost  his 
Ismail  post  at  the  Customs  after  the  expulsion  of  the 
Medici ;  and  three  sons,  younger  than  the  sculptor, 
were  now  growing  up.  Buonarroto,  born  in  1477,  / 
had  been  put  to  the  cloth-trade,  and  was  serving 
under  the  Strozzi  in  their  warehouse  at  the  Porta 
Rossa.^  Giovan-Simone,  two  years  younger  (he  was 
born  in  1479),  after  leading  a  vagabond  life  for 
some  while,  joined  Buonarroto  in  a  cloth-business 
provided  for  them  by  Michelangelo.  He  was  a 
worthless  fellow,  and  gave  his  eldest  brother  much 
trouble.  Sigismondo,  born  in  1481,  took  to  soldier- 
ing ;  but  at  the  age  of  forty  he  settled  down  upon 

^  This  actual  engagement  in  trade  was  not  considered  unworthy  of  a 
noble  family  at  Florence.  The  mediaeval  ordinances  of  the  Republic 
even  compelled  burghers  to  enroll  themselves  under  one  or  other  of  the 
Guilds,  to  buy  and  sell,  as  a  condition  of  their  right  to  share  in  the 
government. 


78  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

the  paternal  farm  at  Settignano,  and  annoye 
his  brother  by  sinking  into  the  condition  of 
common  peasant.^  The  constant  affection  felt  fc 
these  not  veiy  worthy  relatives  by  Michelangelo  il 
one  of  the  finest  traits  in  his  character.  They  wer<l 
continually  writing  begging  letters,  grumbling  an( 
complaining.  He  supplied  them  with  funds,  stinti 
ing  himself  in  order  to  maintain  them  decently  ancl 
to  satisfy  their  wishes.  But  the  more  he  gave,  thq 
more  they  demanded  ;  and  on  one  or  two  occasions! 
as  we  shall  see  in  the  course  of  this  biography,  theiili 
rapacity  and  ingratitude  roused  his  bitterest  indig-i 
nation.  Nevertheless,  he  did  not  swerve  from  the! 
path  of  filial  and  brotherly  kindness  which  his 
generous  nature  and  steady  will  had  traced.  Hd| 
remained  the  guardian  of  their  interests,  the  cus- 

^  Up  to  the  present  date  considerable  uncertainty  has  rested  upon 
the  circumstances  of  Lodovico  Buonarroti's  two  marriages.  It  dii 
not  seem  clear  whether  Giovan-Simone  and  Sigismondo  were  not  thei 
sons  of  the  second  wife.  Litta,  in  the  Famiglie  Celehri,  throws  no  light 
on  the  point.  Passerini,  in  the  pedigree  published  by  Gotti,  vol.  ii., 
represents  the  first  wife,  Francesca,  as  having  died  in  1497,  while  he 
assigns  the  marriage  of  Lucrezia,  the  second  wife,  to  the  year  1485 — a 
gross  and  obvious  blunder.  Heath  Wilson  fixes  1497  as  the  date  of 
Francesca's  death,  but  is  discreetly  silent  about  the  time  of  Lucrezia'sj' 
marriage.  Springer  (vol.  i.  p.  7)  adheres  to  1485  as  the  date  of  the 
second  marriage  ;  but  in  the  pedigree  (ibid.  p.  303)  he  represents  the 
two  younger  sons,  born  in  1479  and  1481,  as  the  children  of  the  second 
wife,  Lucrezia — also  a  gross  and  obvious  blunder.  I  am  now  in  a  posi- 
tion to  state  upon  documentary  evidence  that  Francesca  was  married  in 
1472,  and  was  the  mother  of  all  the  five  sons.  Lucrezia  was  married  in 
1485,  had  no  children,  died  in  1497,  and  was  buried  on  July  9  in  the 
Church  of  S.  Croce.  The  registration  of  th^s  burial  in  the  Libro  dei  1 
Morti  (Archivio  di  Stato)  was  wrongly  referred  by  Passerini  to  Fran-  f 
cesca,  the  first  wife.    See  documents  in  Appendix,  No.  I. 


DOMESTIC   CORRESPONDENCE. 


Ddian  of  their  honour,  and  the  builder  of  their 
jrtunes  to  the  end  of  his  long  life.  The  corre- 
pondence  with  his  father  and  these  brothers  and  a 
ephew,  Lionardo,  was  published  in  full  for  the  first 
wlbme  in  1875.  It  enables  us  to  comprehend  the 
rue  nature  of  the  man  better  than  any  biographi- 
al  notice  ;  and  I  mean  to  draw  largely  upon  this 
ource,  so  as  gradually,  by  successive  stipplings,  as 
t  were,  to  present  a  miniature  portrait  of  one  who 
ms  both  admirable  in  private  life  and  incomparable 
an  artist. 

This  correspondence  opens  in  the  year  1497. 
?rom  a  letter  addressed  to  Lodovico  under  the  date 
iugust  1 9,  we  learn  that  Buonarroto  had  j  ust  arrived 
n  Rome,  and  informed  his  brother  of  certain  pecu- 
liary  difficulties  under  which  the  family  was  labour- 
ng.  Michelangelo  gave  advice,  and  promised  to  send 
ill  the  money  he  could  bring  together.  "  Although, 
IS  I  have  told  you,  I  am  out  of  pocket  myself,  I  will 
io  my  best  to  get  money,  in  order  that  you  may  not 
bave  to  borrow  from  the  Monte,  as  Buonarroto  says 
is  possible.^  Do  not  wonder  if  I  have  sometimes 
written  irritable  letters ;  for  I  often  suffer  great  dis- 
tress of  mind  and  temper,  owing  to  matters  which 
must  happen  to  one  who  is  away  from  home.  .  .  . 
In  spite  of  all  this,  I  will  send  you  what  you  ask  for, 
even  should  I  have  to  sell  myself  into  slavery."^ 

^  The  Monte  di  Pieta  was  established  as  a  state  institution  to  lend 
money  on  security. 
2  Lettere,  No.  ii.  p.  4. 


•■ 


8o  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

Buonarroto    must    have   paid    a   second   visit  t 
Rome  ;   for  we  possess   a  letter  from  Lodovico  t 
Michelangelo,  under  date  December  1 9,  1 500,  whic 
throws    important    light    upon    the    latter  s    habit 
and  designs.     The  old  man  begins  by  saying  hoi 
happy  he   is   to   observe   the    love    which    Michel 
angelo  bears  his  brothers.    Then  he  speaks  about  th 
cloth  business  which  Michelangelo  intends  to  pur 
chase  for   them.     Afterwards,  he   proceeds  as   fol 
lows  :   "  Buonarroto  tells  me  that  you  live  at  Rom< 
with  great  economy,  or  rather  penuriousness.     No^ji 
economy  is  good,  but  penuriousness  is  evil,  seein| 
that  it  is  a  vice  displeasing  to  God  and  men,  am 
moreover   injurious   both   to    soul    and   body.      S< 
long  as  you  are  young,  you  will  be  able  for  a  timi 
to  endure  these  hardships ;  but  when  the  vigour  a 
youth  fails,  then  diseases  and  infirmities  make  thei: 
appearance;  for  these  are  caused  by  personal  dis 
comforts,  mean  living,  and  penurious  habits.     As  ] 
said,  economy  is  good ;  but,  above  all  things,  shun 
stinginess.     Live  discreetly  well,  and  see  you  have 
what  is  needful.     Whatever  happens,  do  not  expose 
yourself  to   physical   hardships;   for   in   your   pro 
fession,  if  you  were  once   to   fall   ill  (which  Goo 
forbid),   you  would  be    a   ruined  man.     Above  al] 
things,  take  care  of  your  head,  and  keep  it  mode- 
rately warm,  and   see  that  you  never  wash :    have 
yourself  rubbed  down,   but  do  not  wash."  ^      This 

*  Gotti,  p.  23.    This  advice  is  so  peculiar  that  I  will  copy  the  original : 
"  E  non  ti  lavare  mai ;  fatti  stropicciare  e  non  ti  lavare." 

/ 


PERSONAL   HABITS. 


(P 


did  way  of  life  became  habitual  with  Michel- 
elo.  When  he  was  dwelling  at  Bologna  in  1 506, 
wrote  home  to  his  brother  Buonarroto :  **  With 
iaftard  to  Giovan-Simone's  proposed  visit,  I  do  not 
jl  vise  him  to  come  yet  awhile,  for  I  am  lodged  here 
%  one  wretched  room,  and  have  bought  a  single 
ltd  d,  in  which  we  all  four  of  us  (i.e.,  himself  and  his 
pu  ree  workmen)  sleep.''  ^  And  again  :  "  I  am  impa- 
i  J  int  to  get  away  from  this  place,  for  my  mode  of 
Rod  e  here  is  so  wretched,  that  if  you  only  knew  what 
I  is,  you  would  be  miserable."  ^  The  summer  was 
;eii  tensely  hot  at  Bologna,  and  the  plague  broke  out. 
ai  .  these  circumstances  it  seems  miraculous  that  the 
ur  sculptors  in  one  bed  escaped  contagion.  Michel- 
elo's  parsimonious  habits  were  not  occasioned  by 
erty  or  avarice.  He  accumulated  large  sums  of 
ney  by  his  labour,  spent  it  freely  on  his  family, 
d  exercised  bountiful  charity  for  the  welfare  of  his 
ul.  We  ought  rather  to  ascribe  them  to  some 
nstitutional  peculiarity,  affecting  his  whole  tem- 
rament,  and  tinging  his  experience  with  despond- 
cy  and  gloom.  An  absolute  insensibility  to  merely 
corative  details,  to  the  loveliness  of  jewels,  stuffs, 
hd  natural  objects,  to  flowers  and  trees  and  pleasant 
J  ndscapes,  to  everything,  in  short,  which  delighted 
\  ,ie  Italians  of  that  period,  is  a  main  characteristic 
jj  |f  his  art.  This  abstraction  and  aridity,  this  ascetic 
ii  evotion  of  his  genius  to  pure  ideal  form,  this  almost 
lathematical  conception  of  beauty,  may  be  ascribed, 

^  Lettere,  No.  xlviii.  p.  61.  ^  Lettere,  No.  Ixxiv.  p.  90. 

VOL.  I.  F 


82  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

I  think,  to  the  same  ^psychological  qualities  whi 
determined  the  dreary  conditions  of  his  home-li 
He  was  no  niggard  either  of  money  or  of  ideas  ;  nq 
even  profligate  of  both.     But  melancholy  made  hi 
miserly  in  all  that  concerned  personal  enjoymenl 
and  he  ought  to  have  been  born  under  that  leadJ 
planet  Saturn  rather  than  Mercury  and  Venus  in  1 1 
house  of  Jove.     Condivi   sums  up  his   daily  habi 
thus  :  "  He  has  always  been  extremely  temperate 
living,   using  food  more  because  it  was   necessal 
than  for  any  pleasure  he  took  in  it ;  especially  wh<l| 
he  was  engaged  upon  some  great  work ;  for  then 
usually  confined  himself  to  a  piece  of  bread,  whii 
he  ate  in  the  middle  of  his  labour.     However,  i\ 
some  time  past,  he  has  been  living  with  more  rega 
to  health,  his  advanced  age  putting  this  constrai 
upon  his  natural  inclination.     Often  have  I  hea 
him  say :  *  Ascanio,  rich  as  I  may  have  been,  I  ha 
always  lived  like  a  poor  man/     And  this  abste] 
ousness  in  food  he  has  practised  in  sleep  also ;  f  I 
sleep,   according  to  his    own  account,  rarely  sui 
his  constitution,  since  he  continually  suffers   froL 
pains  in  the  head  during  slumber,  and  any  excessr 
amount  of  sleep  deranges  his  stomach.     While  1 
was  in  full  vigour,  he  generally  went  to  bed  wii 
his  clothes  on,  even  to  the  tall  boots,  which  he  h 
always  worn,  because  of  a  chronic  tendency  to  cram 
as  well  as  for  other  reasons.     At  certain  seasons  1 
has  kept  these  boots  on  for  such  a  length  of  tim 
that  when  he  drew  them   off  the  skin  came  awj 


PHYSICAL  APPEARANCE.  83 

ether  with  the  leather,  li^e  that  of  a  sloughing 

ake.     He  was  never  stingy  of  cash,  nor  did  he 

cumulate  money,  being  content  with  just  enough 

^6||  keep  him  decently ;  wherefore,  though  innumer- 

le  lords  and  rich  folk  have   made  him   splendid 

^^apers  for  some  specimen  of  his  craft,  he  rarely  com- 

ied,  and   then,   for   the    most  part,   more   out  of 

ndness  and  friendship  than  with  any  expectation 

gain."  ^     In  spite  of  all  this,  or  rather  because 

his   temperance   in  food  and  sleep  and  sexual 

easure,  together  with  his  manual  industry,  he  pre- 

rved  excellent  health  into  old  age. 

•  I  have  thought  it  worth  while  to  introduce  this 

r,pneral   review    of    Michelangelo's    habits,    without 

itting   some  details   which   may  seem   repulsive 

the   modem   reader,    at   an   early   period  of  his 

LOgraphy,    because   we    ought    to    carry   with    us 

irough   the   vicissitudes   of   his    long    career   and 

lany  labours  an  accurate  conception  of  our  hero's 

ersonality.     For   this   reason   it   may  not   be   un- 

rofitable   to   repeat  what   Condivi   says  about  his 

hysical  appearance  in  the  last  years   of  his   life. 

Michelangelo    is    of    a   good    complexion ;    more 

mscular  and  bony  than  fat  or  fleshy  in  his  per- 

on :   healthy  above  all  things,   as  well  by  reason 

f  his  natural  constitution    as   of  the   exercise  he 

iakes,  and  habitual  continence  in  food  and  sexual 

ndulgence.     Nevertheless,  he  was  a  weakly  child, 

nd  has   suffered  two  illnesses    in   manhood.     His 

^  Condivi,  p.  81. 


84  LIFE   OF    MICHELANGELO. 

countenance   always    showed    a    good   and   whoj 
some  colour.     Of  stature  he  is  as  follows :  held 
middling ;   broad  in  the  shoulders ;  the  rest  of  t 
body  somewhat  slender  in  proportion.     The  shal 
of  his  face  is  oval,  the  space  above  the  ears  bei 
one  sixth  higher  than  a  semicircle.     Consequen 
the  temples  project  beyond  the  ears,  and  the  et 
beyond  the  cheeks,  and  these  beyond  the  rest ; 
that  the  skull,  in  relation  to  the  whole  head,  m 
be    called   large.     The   forehead,   seen   in  front, 
square ;  the  nose,  a  little  flattened — not  by  natu: 
but  because,  when  he  was  a  young  boy,  Torrigia 
de'  Torrigiani,  a  brutal  and  insolent  fellow,  smash 
in   the    cartilage  with   his  fist.     Michelangelo 
carried   home    half  dead    on    this    occasion ;     a: 
Torrigiano,   having  been  exiled   from  Florence  i 
his  violence,  came  to  a  bad  end.     The  nose,  ho 
ever,   being  what  it  is,   bears  a  proper   proporti 
to  the  forehead  and  the  rest  of  the  face.     The  lil 
are  thin,  but  the  lower  is  slightly  thicker  than  t 
upper ;  so  that,  seen  in  profile,  it  projects  a  litt 
The    chin   is   well    in   harmony  with   the   featu: 
I   have    described.     The  forehead,   in   a   side-vie 
almost  hangs  over  the  nose ;  and  this  looks  han 
less   than   broken,   were    it   not  for  a  trifling  p 
tuberance   in   the    middle.     The    eyebrows  are  n 
thick   with    hair ;    the    eyes    may    even    be    calL 
small,    of    a   colour    like    horn,    but    speckled   ai 
stained  with  spots  of  bluish  yellow.     The  ears 
good  proportion ;    hair  of  the  head  black,   as  al 


3f 

sks 


EVEN  TENOR  OF  LIFE.  85 


itii 


h  beard,  except  that  both  are  now  grizzled  by 
I  age ;  the  beard  double-forked,  about  five  inches 
ig,  and  not  very  bushy,  as  may  partly  be  observed 
his  portrait." 

'^^'fWe   have   no   contemporary  account    of  Michel- 

'^"gelo   in    early   manhood;    but   the    tenor   of  his 

'  ^  b  was  so  even,  and,  unlike  Cellini,  he  moved  so 

'^'  bstantly  upon  the  same  lines  and  within  the  same 

^'  here  of  patient  self-reserve,  that  it  is  not  difficult 

reconstruct  the  young  and  vigorous  sculptor  out 

this  detailed  description  by  his  loving  friend  and 

rvant  in  old  age.    Few  men,  notably  few  artists, 

ve  preserved  that  continuity  of  moral,  intellectual, 

d  physical  development  in  one  unbroken  course 

lich   is   the   specific   characterisation   of  Michel- 

gelo.     As  years   advanced,  his   pulses   beat  less 

dckly   and  his  body  shrank.     But   the  man  did 

►t  alter.     With  the  same  lapse  of  years,  his  style 

'lew  drier  and  more  abstract,  but  it  did  not  alter 

quality  or  depart  from  its  ideal.     He  seems  to 

e  in  these   respects   to   be   like  Milton :    wholly 

til  dike   the    plastic   and    assimilative    genius    of   a 

aphael. 


CHAPTER  III.  ^    r> 


m 


1,  Michelangelo  returns  to  Florence  early  in  1501. — His  fame  is  r 
established. — Order  for  fifteen  statues  of  male  saints  to  be  placec 
the  Cathedral  of  Siena. — Order  for  the  David  at  Florence. — Hist 
of  the  marble. — Agostino  di  Guccio. — 2.  Michelaugelo  compl 
the  David  in  two  years. — The  Council  of  Notables  convened 
decide  upon  its  place. — Eenioval  of  the  statue  to  the  Piazzf 
Subsequent  history  of  the  David. — 3.  Criticism  of  the  David.— 
realistic  quality. — Michelangelo's  method  of  working  in  marblt 
Cellini's  and  Vasari's  accounts  of  the  sculptor's  art  in  their  age 
4.  Soderini,  Gonfalonier  of  Florence. — Story  about  him  and 
David. — He  commissions  Michelangelo  to  cast  another  David,  1 
a  copy  of  Donatello's  David  for  France. — History  of  the  sec 
David  in  bronze. — Order  to  make  twelve  marble  Apostles  for 
Duomo. — The  S.  Matteo. — Michelangelo  worked  with  the  left  h, 
as  well  as  the  right. — 5.  The  circular  bas-reliefs  of  the  Holy  Fani 
at  Florence  and  in  London. — Their  picturesque  treatment.- 
Doni  Holy  Family  at  the  Ufl&zi. — 6.  Lionardo  da  Vinci  engage* 
paint  one  side  of  the  Sala  del  Gran  Consiglio. — Michelangelo  o 
missioned  to  paint  the  other  side. — The  Cartoons  for  the  Ba  i 
of  the  Standard  and  the  Battle  of  Pisa. — Michelangelo's  litei 
interests  become  prominent  at  this  period.  f 


L 

Michelangelo  returned  to  Florence  in  the  spri 
of  1 501.  Condivi  says  that  domestic  affairs  co 
pelled  him  to  leave  Rome,  and  the  corresponds 
with  his  father  makes  this  not  improbable.  ] 
brought  a  heightened  reputation  back  to  his  nati 
city.   The  Bacchus  and  the  Madonna  della  Febbre  h 


COMMISSION   FROM   SIENA.  87 

aced  him  in  advance  of  any  sculptor  of  his  time, 
ideed,  in  these  first  years  of  the  sixteenth  century  he 
ay  be  said  to  have  been  the  only  Tuscan  sculptor 

I'  commanding  eminence.^    Ghiberti,  Delia  Querela, 
ranelleschi,  Donatello,  all  had  joined  the  majority 
I  ^fore  his  birth.    The  second  group  of  distinguished 
I'aftsmen — Verocchio,  Luca   della  E-obbia,  Rossel- 
,„  Qo,  Da  Maiano,  Civitali,  Desiderio  da  Settimano — 
Hist  cpired  at  the  commencement  of  the  century.      It 
"P'  jemed  as  though  a  gap  in  the  ranks   of  plastic 
32J  ctists  had  purposely  been  made  for  the  entrance 
f  a  predominant  and  tyrannous  personality.    Jacopo 
atti,  called  Sansovino,  was  the  only  man  who  might 
ave  disputed  the  place  of  pre-eminence  with  Michel- 
Qgelo,  and  Sansovino  chose  Venice  for  the  theatre 
f  his  life-labours.     In  these   circumstances,   it   is 
mot  singular   that    commissions    speedily  began   to 
'^'vertax  the  busy  sculptors  power  of  execution.     I 
t  0  not  mean  to  assert  that  the  Italians,  in  the  year 

'  501,  were  conscious  of  Michelangelo's  unrivalled 

ki        .  .  .  . 

qualities,  or  sensitive  to  the  corresponding  limi ta- 
lons which  rendered  these  qualities  eventually 
)aneful  to  the  evolution  of  the  arts ;  but  they 
:50uld  not  help  feeling  that  in  this  young  man  of 
;wenty-six  they  possessed  a  first-rate  craftsman,  and 
me  who  had  no  peer  among  contemporaries. 
The  first  order  of  this  year  came  from  the  Cardinal 

1  What  his  contemporaries  thought  of  him  may  be  seen  from  a  letter 
Sf  Piero  Soderini  to  the  Marchese  Alberigo  Malaspina  of  Massa  (Gave,  ii, 
(107) :  "  Non  essendo  homo  in  Italia  apto  ad  expedire  una  opera  di  cotesu 
jj^ualitk,  h  necessario  che  lui  solo,  e  non  aliro,"  «Scc. 


88 


LIFE  OF   MICHELANGELO. 


i 


Francesco  Piccolomini,  who  was  afterwards  electJ 
Pope  in  1503,  and  who  died  after  reigning  thr(| 
weeks  with  the  title  of  Pius  III.  He  wished 
decorate  the  Piccolomini  Chapel  in  the  Duomo 
Siena  with  fifteen  statues  of  male  saints.  A  contra! 
was  signed  on  June  5,  by  which  Michelangelo  agree 
to  complete  these  figures  within  the  space  of  thre 
years.  One  of  them,  a  S.  Francis,  had  been  alreac 
begun  by  Piero  Torrigiano;  and  this,  we  have  soi 
reason  to  believe,  was  finished  by  the  master  s  han( 
Accounts  difi'er  about  his  share  in  the  remainini 
fourteen  statues ;  but  the  matter  is  of  no  grej 
moment,  seeing  that  the  style  of  the  work  is  coi 
ventional,  and  the  scale  of  the  figures  disagreeabl 
squat  and  dumpy.  It  seems  almost  impossible  thj 
these  ecclesiastical  and  tame  pieces  should  havl 
been  produced  at  the  same  time  as  the  David  anj 
by  the  same  hand.  Neither  Vasari  nor  Cpndivl 
speaks  about  them,  although  it  is  certain  that  Michel 
angelo  was  held  bound  to  his  contract  during  several 
years.  Upon  the  death  of  Pius  III.,  he  renewed  i 
with  the  Pope's  heirs,  Jacopo  and  Andrea  Picco 
lomini,  by  a  deed  dated  September  15,  1504;  and  ii 
1537  Anton  Maria  Piccolomini,  to  whom  the  inherit-! 
ance  succeeded,  considered  himself  Michelangelo's 
creditor  for  the  sum  of  a  hundred  crowns,  which  had 
been  paid  beforehand  for  work  not  finished  by  the] 
sculptor.^ 

1  The  documents  upon  which  these  transactions  rest  will  be  found  inl 
G.  Milanesi's  Documenti  jper  la  Gloria  dell'  Arte  Senese.     Siena  :  Porri,| 


Statue  of  David. 


COMMISSION   FOR   THE   DAVID.  89 

A  far  more  important  commission  was  intrusted 
3  Michelangelo  in  August  of  the  same  year,  1501. 
londivi,  after  mentioning  his  return  to  Florence,  tells 
he  history  of  the  colossal  David   in    these  words : 

Here  he  stayed  some  time,  and  made  the  statue 
^hich  stands  in  front  of  the  great  door  of  the  Palace 
f  the  Signory,  and  is  called  the  Giant  by  all  people, 
t  came  about  in  this  way.  The  Board  of  Works 
t  S.  Maria  del  Fiore  owned  a  piece  of  marble  nine 
ubits  in  height,  which  had  been  brought  from  Carrara 
ome  hundred  years  before  by  a  sculptor  insufficiently 
cquainted  with  his  art.  This  was  evident,  inasmuch 
,s,  wishing  to  convey  it  more  conveniently  and  with 
ess  labour,  he  had  it  blocked  out  in  the  quarry,  but 
Q  such  a  manner  that  neither  he  nor  any  one  else 
ras  capable  of  extracting  a  statue  from  the  block, 
ither  of  the  same  size,  or  even  on  a  much  smaller 
cale.  The  marble  being,  then,  useless  for  any  good 
)urpose,  Andrea  del  Monte  San  Savino  thought 
hat  he  might  get  possession  of  it  from  the  Board, 
Lud  begged  them  to  make  him  a  present  of  it,  pro- 
nising  that  he  would  add  certain  pieces  of  stone  and 
larve  a  statue  from  it.  Before  they  made  up  their 
ninds  to  give  it,  they  sent  for  Michelangelo ;  then, 
ifter  explaining  the  wishes  and  the  views  of  Andrea, 
lud  considering  his  own  opinion  that  it  would  be 

856,  vol.  iii.  A  drawing  of  a  bearded  saint,  heavily  draped,  cowled, 
.nd  holding  a  book  in  his  left  hand,  now  at  the  British  Museum,  is 
tscribed  to  Michelangelo.  It  may  have  been  made  for  one  of  the 
i^iccolomini  statues. 


90  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

possible  to  extract  a  good  thing  from  the  block,  the] 
finally  offered  it  to  him.  Michelangelo  accepted 
added  no  pieces,  and  got  the  statue  out  so  exactly 
that,  as  any  one  may  see,  in  the  top  of  the  head  anc 
at  the  base  some  vestiges  of  the  rough  surface  o 
the  marble  still  remain.  He  did  the  same  in  othe 
works,  as,  for  instance,  in  the  Contemplative  Lif 
upon  the  tomb  of  Julius  ;  indeed,  it  is  a  sign  left  b; 
masters  on  their  work,  proving  them  to  be  absolut 
in  their  art.  But  in  the  David  it  was  much  mor 
remarkable,  for  this  reason,  that  the  difficulty  of  th^ 
task  was  not  overcome  by  adding  pieces  ;  and  also  h 
had  to  contend  with  an  ill-shaped  marble.  As  h 
used  to  say  himself,  it  is  impossible,  or  at  leas 
extraordinarily  difficult,  in  statuary  to  set  right  th 
faults  of  the  blocking  out.  He  received  for  thi 
work  400  ducats,  and  carried  it  out  in  eightee 
months." 

The  sculptor  who  had  spoiled  this  block  0 
marble  is  called  "  Maestro  Simone  "  by  Vasari ;  bu 
the  abundant  documents  in  our  possession,  by  aid  0 
which  we  are  enabled  to  trace  the  whole  history  0 
Michelangelo's  David  with  minuteness,  show  tha 
Vasari  was  misinformed.^  The  real  culprit  wa 
Agostino  di  Antonio  di  Duccio,  or  Guccio,  who  ha( 
succeeded  with  another  colossal  statue  for  th( 
Duomo.^  He  is  honourably  known  in  the  history  0 
Tuscan  sculpture  by  his  reliefs  upon  the  fagade  0 

1  These  documents  will  be  found  in  Gaye,  vol.  ii.  pp.  454-464. 
'  See  Gaye,  vol.  ii.  pp.  465-468. 


I 


THE  SPOILED   BLOCK   OF   MARBLE.  91 

le  Duomo  at  Modena,  describing  episodes  in  the 

fe  of  S.  Gemignano,  by  the  romantically  charming 

jliefs  in  marble,  with  terracotta  settings,  on  the  Ora- 

)ry  of  S.  Bernardino  at  Perugia,  and  by  a  large 

mount  of  excellent  surface-work  in  stone  upon  the 

hapels  of  S.  Francesco  at  Rimini.^     We  gather  from 

ne  of  the  contracts  with  Agostino  that  the  marble 

ras  originally  blocked  out  for  some  prophet.^     But 

ilichelangelo  resolved  to  make  a  David  ;  and  two 

*^ax  models,  now  preserved  in  the  Museo  Buonarroti, 

leither  of  which  corresponds  exactly  with  the  statue 

it  exists,  show  that  he   felt   able  to  extract  a 

jolossal  figure  in  various  attitudes  from  the  damaged 

)lock.    In  the  first  contract  signed  between  the  Con- 

;uls  of  the  Arte  della  Lana,  the  Operai  del  Duomo, 

md  the  sculptor,  dated  August   16,   1501,  the  terms 

ire  thus  settled  :  "  That  the  worthy  master  Michel- 

mgelo,    son    of    Lodovico    Buonarroti,    citizen    of 

!'  -Florence,  has  been  chosen  to  fashion,  complete,  and 

I  finish  to   perfection    that    male    statue   called   the 

1  Agostino  was  born  in  14 18.  He  worked  at  Modena  in  1442,  and  in 
1446  was  banished  on  a  charge  of  theft  from  Florence.  Yriarte  con- 
!  ijectures  that  after  this  date  he  laboured  at  Eimini,  ascribing  to  him  the 
jbas-reliefs  of  the  planets  and  the  zodiac  in  the  Chapel  of  the  S.  Sacra- 
ment, together  with  the  stiacciato  decorations  of  the  Chapel  of  S.  Sigis- 
'mond  and  those  of  the  Chapel  of  S.  Gaudenzio,  all  in  the  Temple  of 
jthe  Malatesta  family.  Between  1459  and  1461  he  worked  at  Perugia. 
The  Operai  del  Duomo  at  Florence  commissioned  the  Colossus  in  1464, 
and  withdrew  their  order  in  1466.  He  died  after  1481.  See  Yriarte, 
\ Rimini.    Paris:  Rothschild,  1882,  p.  407,  &c. 

'  "  Locaverunt  Aghostino  Ghucci,  scultori,  cit.  flor.,  unam  figuram  di 
marmo  biancho  a  chavare  a  Charara  di  braccia  nove,  a  ghuisa  di 
gughante,  in  vece  e  nome  di  .  .  .  profeta." 


92  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

Giant,  of  nine  cubits  in  height,^  now  existing  in  thj 
workshop  of  the  cathedral,  blocked  out  aforetime  bj 
Master  Agostino  of  Florence,   and  badly  blocked [ 
and  that  the  work  shall  be  completed  within  th| 
term  of  the  next  ensuing  two  years,  dating  froi 
September,    at  a   salary   of  six    golden   florins  pel 
month  ;  ^  and  that  what  is  needful  for  the  accomi 
plishment  of  this  task,  as  workmen,  timbers,  &c.j 
which  he  may  require,  shall  be  supplied  him  by  thJ 
Operai ;  and  when  the  statue  is  finished,  the  Consul 
and   Operai   who   shall  be  in  office  shall  estimatJ 
whether  he  deserve  a  larger  recompense,  and  thij 
shall  be  left  to  their  consciences." 


II. 

Michelangelo  began  to  work  on  a  Monday  morn 
ing,  September  13,  in  a  wooden  shed  erected  for  th( 
purpose,  not  far  from  the  cathedral.  On  the  28tl 
of  February  1502,  the  statue,  which  is  now  callec 
for  the  first  time  *'  the  Giant,  or  David,"  was  broughi 
so  far  forward  that  the  judges  declared  it  to  be  hal 
finished,  and  decided  that  the  sculptor  should  be 
paid  in  all  400  golden  florins,  including  the  stipu 
lated   salary.     He   seems  to  have  laboured  assidu 

*  The  Florentine  hraccio  is  said  to  be  fifty-nine  centimetres.     Th( 
English  cubit  is  eighteen  inches. 

*  Gotti  estimates  six  florins  at  57.60  in  francs,  or  about  ;^2,  6s. 


■ 


A  COUNCIL   OF   NOTABLES.  f9%/ 

asly  during  the  next  two  years,  for  by  a  minute  oi 
16  25th  of  January  1504  the  David  is  said  to  be 
most  entirely  finished.  On  this  date  a  solemn 
mncil  of  the  most  important  artists  resident  in 
lorenee  was  convened  at  the  Opera  del  Duomo  to 
jnsider  where  it  should  be  placed. 
We  possess  full  minutes  of  this  meeting,  and  they 
re  so  curious  that  I  shall  not  hesitate  to  give  a 
amewhat  detailed  account  of  the  proceedings.^ 
lesser  Francesco  Filarete,  the  chief  herald  of  the 
ignory,  and  himself  an  architect  of  some  preten- 
ions,  opened  the  discussion  in  a  short  speech  to 
his  effect :  **  I  have  turned  over  in  my  mind  those 
uggestions  which  my  judgment  could  afford  me. 
fou  have  two  places  where  the  statue  may  be  set 
ip  :  the  first,  that  where  the  Judith  stands ;  the 
econd,  in  the  middle  of  the  courtyard  where  the 
3avid  is.^  The  first  might  be  selected,  because  the 
l^udith  is  an  omen  of  evil,  and  no  fit  object  where  it 
tands,  we  having  the  cross  and  lily  for  our  ensign ; 
Resides,  it  is  not  proper  that  the  woman  should  kill 
he  male  ;  and,  above  all,  this  statue  was  erected 
inder  an  evil  constellation,  since  you  have  gone 
continually  from  bad  to  worse  since  then.  Pisa  has 
aeen  lost  too.  The  David  of  the  courtyard  is  im- 
perfect in  the  right  leg ;  and  so  I  should  counsel 
you  to  put  the  Giant  in  one  of  these  places,  but  I 

^  Gaye,  ii.  455, 

^  Donatello's  Judith  used  to  stand  outside  the  great  door  of  the 
Palazzo  Vecchio,  where  the  David  was  eventually  placed.  A  bronze 
David  by  Donatello  stood  in  the  court  of  the  Palazzo. 


94  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

give  the  preference  myself  to  that  of  the  Judith 
The  herald,  it  will  be  perceived,  took  for  grant 
that  Michelangelo's  David  would  be  erected  in  th 
immediate  neighbourhood  of  the  Palazzo  Vecchi( 
The  next  speaker,   Francesco   Monciatto,   a  woot 
carver,  advanced  the  view  that  it  ought  to  be  place 
in   front  of  the   Duomo,  where   the    Colossus  wa 
originally  meant  to  be  put  up.     He  was  immediatel 
followed,  and  his  resolution  was  seconded,  by  no  les 
personages  than  the  painters  Cosimo  Rosselli  an 
Sandro  Botticelli.     Then  Giuliano  da  San  Gallo,  th 
illustrious  architect,   submitted  a  third  opinion  t 
the  meeting.      He  began  his  speech  by  observin 
that  he  agreed  with  those  who  wished  to  choose  th 
steps  of  the  Duomo,  but  due  consideration  cause 
him  to  alter  his  mind.     **  The  imperfection  of  th 
marble,  which  is  softened  by  exposure  to  the  aii 
rendered  the  durability  of  the  statue  doubtful.     H 
therefore  voted  for  the  middle  of  the  Loggia  de 
Lanzi,    where   the   David  would   be    under  cover. 
Messer  Angelo  di  Lorenzo  Manfidi,  second  heral 
of  the  Signory,  rose  to  state  a  professional  objectioi 
**  The  David,  if  erected  under  the  middle  arch  of  th 
Loggia,  would  break  the  order  of  the  ceremonie 
practised  there   by   the  Signory  and   other  magis 
trates.    He  therefore  proposed  that  the  arch  facin 
the    Palazzo    (where    Donatello's    Judith    is    now 
should  be  chosen."     The  three  succeeding  speaker 
people  of  no  great  importance,  gave  their  votes  h 
favour   of  the    chief    herald's   resolution.      Other 


: 


SITE   CHOSEN   FOR   THE   DAVID.  95 

)llowed  San  Gallo,  among  whom  was  the  illustrious 
lionardo  da  Vinci.     He  thought  the  statue  could 
e  placed  under   the  middle    arch    of  the    Loggia 
dthout  hindrance  to  ceremonies  of  state.    Salvestro, 
jeweller,  and  Filippino  Lippi,   the  painter,  were 
f  opinion  that  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Palazzo 
hould  be  adopted,  but  that  the  precise  spot  should 
e  left  to  the  sculptor's  choice.     Gallieno,  an  em- 
roiderer,  and  David  Ghirlandajo,  the  painter,  sug- 
ested   a   new  place — namely,    where   the    lion   or 
arzocco  stood   on   the   Piazza.     Antonio  da   San 
llo,  the  architect,   and  Michelangelo,  the  gold- 
mith,  father  of  Baccio  Bandinelli,  supported  Giuli- 
,no  da  San  Gallons  motion.    Then  Giovanni  Piffero — 
hat  is,  the  father  of  Benvenuto  Cellini — brought  the 
iscussion  back  to  the  courtyard  of  the  palace.     He 
ought  that   in  the  Loggia   the    statue  would  be 
nly  partly  seen,    and   that  it  would  run  risks  of 
njury  from   scoundrels.      Giovanni    delle  Corniole, 
he  incomparable  gem- cutter,  who  has  left  us  the 
i  Ibest  portrait  of  Savonarola,  voted  with  the  two  San 
I  iGalli,  *'  because  he  hears  the  stone  is  soft."     Piero 
1  di  Cosimo,  the  painter,  and  teacher  of  Andrea  del 
( iSarto,  wound  up  the  speeches  with  a  strong  recom- 
mendation that  the  choice  of  the  exact  spot  should 
t  (be  left  to  Michelangelo  Buonarroti.     This  was  even- 
[  itually  decided  on,  and  he  elected  to  have  his  David 
!  set  up  in  the  place  preferred  by  the  chief  herald — 
ithat  is  to  say,  upon  the  steps  of  the  Palazzo  Vecchio, 
on  the  right  side  of  the  entrance. 


96  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

The  next  thing  was  to  get  the  mighty  mass  ( 
sculptured  marble    safely  moved  from  the  Duoml 
to  the  Palazzo.     On  the   ist  of  April,   Simone  d 
Pollajuolo,  called  II  Cronaca,  was  commissioned  i| 
make  the  necessary  preparations  ;  but  later  on,  up 
the  30th,   we  find  Antonio  da   San   Gallo,    Bacci 
d'Agnolo,  Bernardo  della  Ciecha,  and  Michelange 
associated  with  him  in  the  work  of  transportatio 
An  enclosure  of  stout  beams  and  planks  was  ma 
and  placed  on  movable  rollers.     In  the  middle  ( 
this   the    statue   hung    suspended,    with    a    certai 
liberty  of  swaying  to  the  shocks  and  lurches  of  tlf 
vehicle.     More  than  forty  men  were  employed  upo 
the  windlasses  which  drew  it  slowly  forward.      1 
a    contemporary  record  we    possess  a  full   accoui 
of  the  transit:^    ''On   the    14th  of  May  1504,  tl 
marble  Giant  was  taken  from  the  Opera.     It  ca; 
out  at   24  o'clock,  and  they  broke  the  wall  abo'^ 
the  gateway  enough  to  let  it  pass.     That  night  son 
stones  were  thrown  at  the  Colossus  with  intent 
harm  it.     Watch  had  to  be  kept  at  night;  and 
made   way  very  slowly,  bound   as   it  was    uprigt 
suspended   in   the    air   with    enormous   beams   ar 
intricate  machinery  of  ropes.     It  took  four  days 
reach  the  Piazza,  arriving  on  the   i8th  at  the  hoi 
of  12.    More  than  forty  men  were  employed  to  mal 
it  go ;  and  there  were  fourteen   rollers  joined  b 
neath  it,  which  were  changed  from  hand  to  ban 
Afterwards,    they   worked    until   the    8th    of   Jui 

*  Gaye,  vol.  ii.  p.  464. 


Wholk  Figure  and  Arm  of  the  David 


SUBSEQUENT   HISTORY   OF  THE   DAVID.       97 

b4  to  place  it  on  the  platform  {ringhiera)  where 
Judith  used  to  stand.  The  Judith  was  re- 
eved and  set  upon  the  ground  within  the  palace. 
Te  said  Giant  was  the  work  of  Michelangelo 
Bonarroti."  ^ 

Where  the  masters  of  Florence  placed  it,  under 
tl)  direction  of  its  maker,  Michelangelo's  great 
\^ite  David  stood  for  more  than  three  centuries 
u covered,  open  to  all  injuries  of  frost  and  rain, 
ad  to  the  violence  of  citizens,  until,  for  the  better 
p?servation  of  this  masterpiece  of  modern  art,  it 
v,s  removed  in  1873  to  a  hall  of  the  Accademia 
dlle  Belle  Arti.^  On  the  whole,  it  has  suffered 
vry  little.  Weather  has  slightly  worn  away  the 
etremities  of  the  left  foot;  and  in  1527,  during  a 
f  pular  tumult,  the  left  arm  was  broken  by  a  huge 
sme  cast  by  the  assailants  of  the  palace.  Giorgio 
^isari  tells  us  how,  together  with  his  friend  Cec- 
(ino  Salviati,  he  collected  the  scattered  pieces,  and 

1  ought  them  to  the  house  of  Michelangelo  Salviati, 
te  father  of  Cecchino.^  They  were  subsequently 
]it  together  by  the  care  of  the  Grand  Duke  Cosimo, 
ad  restored  to  the  statue  in  the  year  1543.* 

^  In  a  note  to  Gotti,  vol.  i.  p.  29,  there  is  another  interesting  account 
( this  transit  of  the  David,  from  the  MS.  Stor.  Fior.  of  Pietro  Parenti. 

2  For  a  full  account  of  this  transaction,  see  Gotti,  vol.  ii.  pp.  35-51. 
^  Vasari,  vol.  xii.  p.  49.  *  Gotti,  vol.  i.  p.  31. 


)L.  I.  G 


98  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 


k 


III. 

(  In  the  David  Michelangelo  first  displayed   tl 
quality  of  terrihilitd,,  of  spirit- quailing,  awe-inspiri 
force,  for  which  he  afterwards  became  so  famoi 
The    statue   imposes,    not   merely   by  its    size   a 
majesty  and  might^but  by  something  vehement 
the  conception.^  ^Jle  was,  however,  far  from  havi 
yet  adopted  those    systematic   proportions   for   t 
human  body  which  later  on  gave  an  g,ir  of  mor 
tonous  impressiveness   to    all  his  figures.     On  t 
contrary,  this  young  giant  strongly  recalls  the  mode 
still   more  strongly  indeed  than  the  Bacchus  d 
Wishing^ perhaps  to  adhere  strictly  to  the  Bibli 
story,  Michelangelo  studied  a  lad  whose  frame 
not   developelj    The   David,   to    state   the   matlj 
frankly,  is  a  colossal  hobbledehoy.  ,   His   body, 
breadth  of  the  thorax,  depth  of  the  abdomen,  a: 
general  stoutness,  has  not  grown  up  to  the  scd 
of  the  enormous  hands  and  feet  and  heavy  hed 
We  feel  that  he  wants  at  least  two  years  to  becoi!' 
a  fully  developed  man,  passing  from  adolescence 
the  maturity  of  strength  and  beautyV      This  clo 
observance  of  the  imperfections  of  the  model  at 
certain  stage  of  physical  growth  is  very  remarkab 
and  not  altogether  pleasing  in  a  statue  more  th; 
nine  feet  high.     Both  Donatello  and  Verocchio  h 
treated  their  Davids  in  the  same  realistic  manne 


spii 
m 
e 


DESCRIPTION   OF  THE   DAVID.  99 

t  they  were  working  on  a  small  scale  and  in 
bnze.  I  insist  upon  this  point,  because  students 
Michelangelo  have  been  apt  to  overlook  his  ex- 
jme  sincerity  and  naturalism  in  the  first  stages  of 
s  career. 

Having  acknowledged  that  the  head  of  David  is 

b  massive  and  the  extremities  too  largely  formed 

r  ideal  beauty,  hypercriticism  can  hardly  find  fault 

iith   the   modelling   and    execution    of  each   part. 

tie  attitude  selected  is  one  of  great  dignity  and 

gour.      The  heroic  boy,  quite  certain  of  victory, 

excited  by  the  coming  contest.     His  brows   are 

olently  contracted,  the  nostrils  tense  and  quivering, 

le  eyes  fixed  keenly  on  the  distant  Philistine.     His 

Tynx  rises  visibly,  and  the  sinews  of  his  left  thigh 

ghten,  as  though  the  whole  spirit  of  the  man  were 

aced  for  a  supreme  endeavour.     In  his  right  hand, 

'apt  at  a  just  middle  point  between  the  hip  and 

ee,  he  holds  the  piece  of  wood  on  which  his  sling 

hung.     The  sling  runs  round  his  back,  and  the 

ntre  of  it,  where  the  stone  bulges,  is  held  with  the 

bft  hand,  poised  upon  the  left  shoulder,   ready  to 

e  loosed.s  We  feel  that  the  next  movement  will 

volve  the  right  hand  straining  to  its  full  extent 

be  sling,  dragging  the  stone  away,  and  whirling  it 

|Qto   the    air;    when,    after    it   has    sped   to    strike 

'joliath  in  the  forehead,   the  whole  lithe  body  of 

'he  lad  will  have  described  a  curve,  and  recovered 

^s   perpendicular   position    on    the   two  firm  legs 

Vlichelangelo  invariably  chose  some  decisive  moment 


I 


loo  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

in  the  action  he  had  to  represent ;  and  though 
was  working  here  under  difficulties,  owing  to  t 
limitations  of  the  damaged  block  at  his  disposal' 
contrived  to  suggest  the  imminence    of   swift  lEq 
sudden  energy  which  shall  disturb  the  equilibri 
of  his  young  giant's  pose.  ] ferities  of  this  stat 
deceived   by   its    superficial    resemblance    to    so 
Greek  athletes  at  rest,  have  neglected  the  can 
realism  of  the  momentary  act  foreshadowed./  ThI 
do    not    understand    the    meaning    of    the    sliDJ 
Even  Heath   Wilson,  for  instance,   writes :    "  T 
massive  shoulders  are  thrown  back,  the  right  a 
is  pendent,  and  the  right  hand  grasps  resolutely  t 
stone   with   which   the   adversary  is  to   be  slain. 
This  entirely  falsifies  the  sculptor's  motive,  mis 
the  meaning  of  the   sling,  renders  the  broad  stri 
behind  the  back  superfluous,  and  changes  into  m 
plastic  symbolism  what  Michelangelo  intended  to 
a  moment  caught  from  palpitating  life. 

It  has  often  been  remarked  that  David's  head 
modelled  upon  the  type  of  Donatello's  S.  Georji 
at  Orsanmichele.  The  observation  is  just;  and 
suggests  a  comment  on  the  habit  Michelangelo  earl 
formed  of  treating  the  face  idealistically,  howev 
much  he  took  from  study  of  his  models.  Vasa: 
for  example,  says  that  he  avoided  portraiture,  ai 
composed  his  faces  by  combining  several  individual 
We   shall  see  a  new  ideal  type  of  the  male  he? 

1  Heath  Wilson,  p.  51.     Springer,  and  indeed  all  critics,  make  t 
same  mistake. 


Right  and  Lef^:  Legs  of  the  David. 


METHODS   OF   WORKING   MARBLE.  loi 


Ierge  in  a  group  of  statues,  among  which  the 
st  distinguished  is  Giuliano  de'  Medici  at  San 
])renzo.  We  have  already  seen  a  female  type 
(Bated  in  the  Madonnas  of  S.  Peter's  and  Notre 
lame  at  Bruges.  But  this  is  not  the  place  to  dis- 
(ss  Michelangelo's  theory  of  form  in  general.  That 
mst  be  reserved  until  we  enter  the  Sistine  Chapel, 
i  order  to  survey  the  central  and  the  crowning 
joduct  of  his  genius  in  its  prime. 

We  have  every  reason  to  believe  that  Michel- 
agelo  carved  his  David  with  no  guidance  but 
cawings  and  a  small  wax  model  of  about  eighteen 
i  ches  in  height.  The  inconvenience  of  this  method, 
^hich  left  the  sculptor  to  wreak  his  fury  on  the 
marble  with  mallet  and  chisel,  can  be  readily  con- 
(dved.      In  a  famous   passage,   disinterred  by  M. 

ariette  from  ii  French  scholar  of  the  sixteenth 
ontury,  we  have  this  account  of  the  fiery  master's 

stem:^  "I  am  able  to  affirm  that  I  have  seen 
Lichelangelo,  at  the  age  of  more  than  sixty  years, 
id  not  the  strongest  for  his  time  of  life,  knock  off 
lore  chips  from  an  extremely  hard  marble  in  one 
uarter  of  an  hour  than  three  young  stone-cutters 
Duld  have  done  in  three  or  four — a  thing  quite 
icredible  to  one  who  has  not  seen  it.  He  put 
ich  impetuosity  and  fury  into  his  work,  that  I 
lought  the  whole  must  fly  to  pieces ;  hurling  to 
16  ground  at  one  blow  great  fragments  three  or 

^  Condivi,  p.  i88.    Mariette  quotes  from  Blaise  de  Vigenere's  annota- 
lons  to  the  Images  of  Philostratus. 


I02  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

four  inches  thick,  shaving  the  line  so  closely,  thi 
if  he  had  overpassed  it  by  a  hair's-breadth,  he  ra 
the  risk  of  losing  all,  since  one  cannot  mend 
marble  afterwards  or  repair  mistakes,  as  one  do( 
with  figures  of  clay  and  stucco."  It  is  said  tha 
owing  to  this  violent  way  of  attacking  his  marbl 
Michelangelo  sometimes  bit  too  deep  into  the  ston 
and  had  to  abandon  a  promising  piece  of  scul 
ture.  This  is  one  of  the  ways  of  accounting  for  h 
numerous  unfinished  statues.  Accordingly  a  myl; 
has  sprung  up  representing  the  great  master 
working  in  solitude  upon  huge  blocks,  with  nothir 
but  a  sketch  in  wax  before  him.  Fact  is  alwa 
more  interesting  than  fiction  ;  and,  while  I  am  upc 
the  topic  of  his  method,  I  will  introduce  wh 
Cellini  has  left  written  on  this  subject  In  h 
treatise  on  the  Art  of  Sculpture,  Cellini  lays  doT< 
the  rule  that  sculptors  in  stone  ought  first  to  mal 
a  little  model  two  palms  high,  and  after  this 
form  another  as  large  as  the  statue  will  have  to  b( 
He  illustrates  this  by  a  critique  of  his  iUustrio 
predecessors.  "  Albeit  many  able  artists  rush  bold 
on  the  stone  with  the  fierce  force  of  mallet  ai'l 
chisel,  relying  on  the  little  model  and  a  go( 
design,  yet  the  result  is  never  found  by  them  to  1 
so  satisfactory  as  when  they  fashion  the  model  ( 
a  large  scale.  This  is  proved  by  our  DonateU 
who  was   a   Titan   in   the    art,   and  afterwards  1 


1  I  Trattati  deW  Oreficeria,  etc.,  di  Bevwewuto  Cellim.     Firenze  : 
Monnier,  1857,  p.  197. 


I 


tor 


CELLINI'S   AND   VASARI'S   STATEMENTS.       103 

vtllfte  stupendous  Michelangelo,  who  worked  in  both 

liays.    Discovering  latterly  that  the  small  models  fell 

Ir  short  of  what  his  excellent   genius   demanded, 

adopted  the  habit  of  making  most  careful  models 

actly  of  the  same  size  as  the  marble  statue  was 

be.     This  we  have  seen  with  our  own  eyes  in  the 

acristy  of  S.  Lorenzo.     Next,  when  a  man  is  satis- 

sci  ed  with  his  full-sized  model,  he  must  take  charcoal, 

ad  sketch  out  the  main  view  of  his  figure  on  the 

1111  larble  in  such  wise  that  it  shall  be  distinctly  traced  ; 

81  )r  he  who  has  not  previously  settled  his  design  may 

i  ometimes  find  himself  deceived  by  the   chiselling 

rons.     Michelangelo's  method  in  this  matter  was 

he  best.     He  used  first  to  sketch  in  the  principal 

spect,  and   then   to  begin  work  by  removing  the 

ii§urface  stone  upon  that  side,  just  as  if  he  intended 

0  fashion  a  figure  in  half-relief ;  and  thus  he  went 

n  gradually  uncovering  the  rounded  form." 

Vasari,    speaking    of  four  rough-hewn   Captives, 

)l'ipossibly  the  figures  now  in  a  grotto  of  the  Boboli 

rii  Grardens,  says  :  ^  "  They  are  well  adapted  for  teach- 

i  ling   a   beginner  how  to    extract    statues  from   the 

rimarble    without    injury    to    the    stone.     The    safe 

f  method  which  they  illustrate  may  be  described  as 

3  follows.     You  first  take  a  model  in  wax  or  some 

1(1  other  hard  material,  and  place  it  lying  in  a  vessel 

I  i  full  of  water.     The  water,  by  its  nature,  presents  a 

!f level   surface;    so    that,    if  you   gradually  lift   the 

■  model,  the  higher  parts  are  first  exposed,  while  the 

^  Vasari,  xii.  273. 


104  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

lower  parts  remain  submerged  ;  and  proceeding  thu 
the  whole  round  shape  at  length  appears  above  th 
water.     Precisely  in    the  same    way  ought   statue! 
to  be  hewn  out  from  the   marble  with  the   chisel! 
first  uncovering  the  highest  surfaces,  and  proceedin 
to  disclose  the  lowest.     This  method  was  followe 
by  Michelangelo  while  blocking  out  the  Captiveil 
and  therefore   his   Excellency  the   Duke  was   fail 
to  have  them  used  as  models  by  the   students  i| 
his  Academy."      It  need  hardly  be  remarked  thi 
the  ingenious  process  of  "  pointing  the  marble  "  bl 
means    of    the    "  pointing    machine "    and    "  scald 
stones,"    which    is    at    present    universally    in    us 
among  sculptors,  had  not  been  invented  in  the  six 
teenth  century. 


IV. 

I  cannot  omit  a  rather  childish  story  whicl 
Vasari  tells  about  the  David. ^  After  it  had  beei 
placed  upon  its  pedestal  before  the  palace,  am 
while  the  scaffolding  was  still  there,  Piero  Soderini 
who  loved  and  admired  Michelangelo,  told  bin 
that  he  thought  the  nose  too  large.  The  sculpto 
immediately  ran  up  the  ladder  till  he  reached  i 
point  upon  the  level  of  the  giant's  shoulder.  Hi 
then  took  his  hammer  and  chisel,  and,  having  con 
cealed  some   dust   of  marble  in  the  hollow   of  hi 

^  Vasari,  xii.  174. 


Eight  Hand  of  the  David. 


PIERO  SODERINI.  105 

md,  pretended  to  work  off  a  portion  from  the  sur- 
ce  of  the  nose.  In  reality  he  left  it  as  he  found  it ; 
it  Soderini,  seeing  the  marble  dust  fall  scattering 
trough  the  air,  thought  that  his  hint  had  been 
liken.  When,  therefore,  Michelangelo  called  down 
)  him,  "  Look  at  it  now ! "  Soderini  shouted  up  in 
bply,  "  I  am  far  more  pleased  with  it ;  you  have 
liven  life  to  the  statue." 
At  this  time  Piero  Soderini,  a  man  of  excellent 
arts  and  sterling  character,  though  not  gifted  with 
hat  mixture  of  audacity  and  cunning  which  im- 
ressed  the  Renaissance  imagination,  was  Gon- 
alonier  of  the  Republic.  He  had  been  elected  to 
he  supreme  magistracy  for  life,  and  was  practically 
)oge  of  Florence.  His  friendship  proved  on  more 
han  one  occasion  of  some  service  to  Michelangelo ; 
iind  while  the  gigantic  David  was  in  progress  he 
fB.\e  the  sculptor  a  new  commission,  the  history  of 
^vhich  must  now  engage  us.^  The  Florentine  envoys 
io  France  had  already  written  in  June  1501  from 
"Lyons,  saying  that  Pierre  de  Rohan,  Marechal  de 
3ri^,  who  stood  high  in  favour  at  the  court  of  Louis 
XII.,  greatly  desired  a  copy  of  the  bronze  David  by 
Donatello  in  the  courtyard  of  the  Palazzo  Vecchio. 
He  appeared  willing  to  pay  for  it,  but  the  envoys 
thought  that  he  expected  to  have  it  as  a  present. 
The  French  alliance  was  a  matter  of  the  highest 

''  ^  The  documents  relating  to  this  bronze  David  will  be  found  in  Gaye, 
vol.  ii.  pp.  52,  55,  58-61,  &c.,  down  to  109.  The  whole  series  of  events 
'  is  well  described  in  L'CEuvre  et  la  Vie,  pp.  242  et  seq. 


io6  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

importance  to  Florence,  and  at  this  time  the 
public  was  heavily  indebted  to  the  French  croT^ 
Soderini,   therefore,    decided    to    comply   with   t| 
Marshal's  request,  and  on  the  1 2th  of  August  1 5 
Michelangelo  undertook  to  model  a  David  of  t 
cubits  and  a  quarter  within   six  months/     In  t| 
bronze-casting  he  was  assisted  by  a  special  mast 
Benedetto    da   Rovezzano.^     During   the   next   t 
years  a  brisk  correspondence  was  kept  up  betweli 
the  envoys  and  the  Signory  about  the  statue,  sho 
ing  the  Marshal's  impatience.     Meanwhile  De  Eoh 
became  Duke  of  Nemours  in  1 503  by  his  marria 
with  a  sister  of  Louis  d'Armagnac,  and  shortly  aft( 
wards  he  fell  into  disgrace.    Nothing  more  was  to 
expected  from  him  at  the  court  of  Blois.     But  t 
statue  was  in  progress,   and  the  question  arose  |) 
whom  it  should  be  given.     The  choice  of  the  Signc 
fell    on   Florimond    Eobertet,    secretary   of  finan< 
whose  favour  would  be  useful  to   the   Florentinlj 
in  their  pecuniary  transactions  with  the  King, 
long  letter  from  the  envoy,  Francesco  Pandolfini, 
September   1505,   shows  that  Robertet's  mind  h 
been  sounded  on  the  subject;  and  we  gather  frc 
a  minute  of  the  Signory,  dated  November  6,   15c 

1  There  is  every  reason  to  suppose  that  this  David  was  an  origi,' 
work  ;  but  whether  Donatello's  bronze  David  was  also  copied  does  i 
appear.  Condivi  (p.  22)  says  :  "  At  the  request  of  his  great  friend  Pi 
Soderini  he  cast  a  life-size  statue,  which  was  sent  to  France,  and  a 
a  David  with  Goliath  beneath  his  feet.  That  which  one  sees  in 
courtyard  of  the  Palazzo  de'  Signori  is  by  the  hand  of  Donatello." 

*  See  Vasari,  xii.  350. 


15 


THE   BRONZE   DAVID.  107 

^^^  1  at  at  last  the  bronze  David,  weighing  about  800 
^^'^^  lunds,  had  been  *'  packed  in  the  name  of  God  " 
d  sent  to  Signa  on  its  way  to  Leghorn.  Eobertet 
eived  it  in  due  course,  and  placed  it  in  the  court- 
^^mid  of  his  chateau  of  Bury,  near  Blois.  Here  it 
^^  f mained  for  more  than  a  century,  when  it  was 
na^moved  to  the  chateau  of  Villeroy.  There  it  dis- 
■t  tepeared.  We  possess,  however,  a  fine  pen-and- 
itwftiik  drawing  by  the  hand  of  Michelangelo,  which 
ay  well  have  been  a  design  for  this  second  David.^ 
e  muscular  and  naked  youth,  not  a  mere  lad  like 
iTiajjie  colossal  statue,  stands  firmly  posed  upon  his 
}ft  leg  with  the  trunk  thrown  boldly  back.  His 
ght  foot  rests  on  the  gigantic  head  of  Goliath,  and 
lis  left  hand,  twisted  back  upon  the  buttock,  holds 
mat  seems  meant  for  the  sling.  We  see  here  what 
iiichelangelo's  conception  of  an  ideal  David  would 
ave  been  when  working  under  conditions  more 
avourable  than  the  damaged  block  ajHForded.  On 
he  margin  of  the  page  the  following  words  may  be 
ilearly  traced:  ^'Davicte  cholla  fromba  e  io  chol- 
liiiarcho  Michelagniolo," — David  with  the  sling,  and  I 
iojvith  the  bow.^ 
50 1   Meanwhile    Michelangelo    received    a    still   more 

gii    ^  In  the   Louvre.     Part  of  the  drawing  is  engraved  on  p.  243  of 

i^UCEuvre  et  la  Vie. 

Pif '  2  What  is  meant  by  the  bow  I  cannot  guess.  It  seems,  however,  that 
ilichelangelo  was  meditating  verses,  for  lower  down  we  read  Rod '  ^ 
alta  cholonna  (first  words  of  Petrarch's  sonnet,  2,  In  M.  di  M.  L.)  The 
[talians  say  Con  I  ^arco  delta  schiena  when  they  wish  to  express  "  with 
ill  one's  might." 


io8  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

important  commission  on  the  24th  of  April  150; 
The  Consuls  of  the  Arte  della  Lana  and  the  Operai  cl 
the  Duomo  ordered  twelve  Apostles,  each  4i  cubi 
high,  to  be  carved  out  of  Carrara  marble  and  place! 
inside  the  church.  The  sculptor  undertook  to  fu 
nish  one  each  year,  the  Board  of  Works  defrayin 
all  expenses,  supplying  the  costs  of  Michelangelo' 
living  and  his  assistants,  and  paying  him  two  golds 
florins  a  month.  Besides  this,  they  had  a  housj 
built  for  him  in  the  Borgo  Pinti  after  II  Cronaca' 
design.^  He  occupied  this  house  free  of  charge! 
while  he  was  in  Florence,  until  it  became  manifesi 
that  the  contract  of  1503  would  never  be  carrie 
out.  Later  on,  in  March  1508,  the  tenement  wa 
let  on  lease  to  him  and  his  heirs.  But  he  onl 
held  it  a  few  months ;  for  on  the  1 5th  of  June  th 
lease  was  cancelled,  and  the  house  transferred  t 
Sigismondo  Martelli. 

The  only  trace  surviving  of  these  twelve  Apostle 
is  the  huge  blocked-out  S.  Matteo,  now  in  the  court 
yard  of  the  Accademia.  Vasari  writes  of  it  a 
follows :  "  He  also  began  a  statue  in  marble  0 
S.  Matteo,  which,  though  it  is  but  roughly  hewn 
shows  perfection  of  design,  and  teaches  sculptor 
how  to  extract  figures  from  the  stone  without  ex 
posing  them  to  injury,  always  gaining  ground  bj 
removing  the  superfluous  material,  and  being  abl 
to  withdraw  or  change  in  case  of  need."^  Thi 
stupendous  sketch  or  shadow  of  a  mighty  form  i 

I  Gaye,  vol.  ii.  pp.  92,  473-478.  ^  Vasari,  xii.  177. 


Drawing  for  Second  David. 


THE   S.    MATTEO. 

ieed  instructive  for  those  who  would  understand 
Ichelangelo's  method.  It  fully  illustrates  the  pas- 
s^es  quoted  above  from  Cellini  and  Vasari,  showing 
Lw  a  design  of  the  chief  view  of  the  statue  must 
I  ve  been  chalked  upon  the  marble,  and  how  the  un- 
f  lished  figure  gradually  emerged  into  relief.  Were 
V.  to  place  it  in  a  horizontal  position  on  the  ground, 
tat  portion  of  the  rounded  form  which  has  been 
(sengaged  from  the  block  would  emerge  just  in 
1e  same  way  as  a  model  from  a  bath  of  water 
i)t  quite  deep  enough  to  cover  it.  At  the  same 
toae  we  learn  to  appreciate  the  observations  of 
igenere  while  we  study  the  titanic  chisel-marks, 
i'ooved  deeply  in  the  body  of  the  stone,  and  carried 
I  the  length  of  three  or  four  inches.  The  direction 
.■  these  strokes  proves  that  Michelangelo  worked 
jually  with  both  hands,  and  the  way  in  which 
ley  are  hatched  and  crossed  upon  the  marble 
jminds  one  of  the  pen-drawing  of  a  bold  draughts- 
lan.  The  mere  surface-handling  of  the  stone  has 
smarkable  affinity  in  linear  effect  to  a  pair  of  the 
laster's  pen- designs  for  a  naked  man,  now  in  the 
jQuvre.  On  paper  he  seems  to  hew  with  the  pen, 
n  marble  to  sketch  with  the  chisel.  The  saint  ap- 
pears literally  to  be  growing  out  of  his  stone  prison, 
s  though  he  were  alive  and  enclosed  there  waiting 
0  be  liberated.  This  recalls  Michelangelo's  fixed 
»pinion  regarding  sculpture,  which  he  defined  as 
he  art  "  that  works  by  force  of  taking  away."  ^     In 

1  Lettere,  No.  cdlxii. 


no  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

his  writings  we  often  find  the  idea  expressed  t 
a  statue,  instead  of  being  a  human  thought  investi 
with  external  reality  by  stone,  is  more  truly  to 
regarded  as  something  which  the  sculptor  se 
and  finds  inside  his  marble — a  kind  of  marvell 
discovery.  Thus  he  says  in  one  of  his  poem 
"Lady,  in  hard  and  craggy  stone  the  mere  remo^| 
of  the  surface  gives  being  to  a  figure,  which  e 
grows  the  more  the  stone  is  hewn  away."  Ai 
again  ^ — 

The  best  of  artists  hath  no  thought  to  show 
Which  the  rough  stone  in  its  superfluous  shell 
Doth  not  include  :  to  break  the  marble  spell 
Is  all  the  hand  that  serves  the  brain  can  do. 

S.  Matthew  seems  to  palpitate  with  life  while  i 
scrutinise  the  amorphous  block ;    and  yet  there 
little  there  more  tangible  than   some  such  form 
fancy  loves  to  image  in  the  clouds. 

To  conclude  what  I  have  said  in  this  sectii 
about  Michelangelo's  method  of  working  on  t 
marble,  I  must  confirm  what  I  have  stated  abo| 
his  using  both  left  and  right  hand  while  chisellin 
Rafi'aello  da  Montelupo,  who  was  well  acquaint 
with  him  personally,  informs  us  of  the  fact 
*'  Here  I  may  mention  that  I  am  in  the  habit 
drawing  with  my  left  hand,  and  that  once,  at  Eom 

1  Madrigals  xii..  Rime,  p.  37.  ^  Sonnet  xv.,  Rime,  p.  173. 

3  This  passage  occurs  in  Montelupo's  autobiography,  the  original 
which  may  be  found  in  Barbara's  diamond  edition  of  Italian  classi 
Autohiografie,  ed.  A.  D'Ancona,  1859.  I  have  borrowed  the  abo 
translation  from  Perkins's  Tuscan  Sculptors,  vol.  ii.  p.  74. 


TWO   CIRCULAR   BAS-RELIEF   MADONNAS,      iii 

hile  I  was  sketching  the  Arch  of  Trajan  from  the 
olosseum,  Michelangelo  and  Sebastiano  del  Piombo, 
)th  of  whom  were  naturally  left-handed  (although 
ley  did  not  work  with  "the  left  hand  excepting 
hen  they  wished  to  use  great  strength),  stopped  to 
)ii  36  me,  and  expressed  great  wonder,  no  sculptor  or 
ainter  ever  having  done  so  before  me,  as  far  as  I 
now." 


V. 

If  Vasari  can  be  trusted,  it  was  during  this  resid- 

ince   at   Florence,  when   his   hands  were    so  fully 

iccupied,   that  Michelangelo '  found   time   to  carve 

he    two    tondi,    Madonnas    in    relief   enclosed    in 

Circular  spaces,    which   we    still   possess.      One   of 

;hem,  made  for  Taddeo  Taddei,  is  now  at  Burlington 

House,  having  been  acquired  by  the  Royal  Academy 

through  the  medium  of  Sir  George  Beaumont.     This 

Wnks  among  the  best  things  belonging  to  that  Cor- 

|)oration.^    The  other,  made  for  Bartolommeo  Pitti, 

Will  be  found  in  the  Palazzo  del  Bargello  at  Florence. 

Of  the  two,  that  of  our  Eoyal  Academy  is  the  more 

ambitious  in  design,  combining  singular  grace  and 

'dignity  in  the  Madonna   with  action  playfully  sug- 

igested  in  the  infant  Christ  and  little  S.  John.    That 

'of  the  Bargello  is  simpler,  more  tranquil,  and  more 

I     ^  The  bas-relief  has  been  cast,  and  used  to  be  on  sale  at  Brucciani'a, 
but  I  know  of  no  photographic  reproduction  from  the  original 


112  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

stately.  The  one  recalls  the  motive  of  the  Bruge 
Madonna,  the  other  almost  anticipates  the  Delphi 
Sibyl.  We  might  fancifully  call  them  a  pair  c 
native  pearls  or  uncut  gems,  lovely  by  reason  evei 
of  their  sketchiness.  Whether  by  intention,  a 
some  critics  have  supposed,^  or  for  want  of  time  t 
finish,  as  I  am  inclined  to  believe,  these  two  relief 
are  left  in  a  state  of  incompleteness  which  is  highl 
suggestive.  Taking  the  Royal  Academy  group  first 
the  absolute  roughness  of  the  groundwork  supplie 
an  admirable  background  to  the  figures,  which  seer 
to  emerge  from  it  as  though  the  whole  of  ther| 
were  there,  ready  to  be  disentangled.  The  mos 
important  portions  of  the  composition — ^Madonna'i 
head  and  throat,  the  drapery  of  her  powerful  breasi 
on  which  the  child  Christ  reclines,  and  the  nake 
body  of  the  boy — are  wrought  to  a  point  which  onl 
demands  finish.  Yet  parts  of  these  two  figure! 
remain  undetermined.  Christ's  feet  are  still  im 
prisoned  in  the  clinging  marble  ;  his  left  arm  an^ 
hand  are  only  indicated,  and  his  right  hand  is  restin 
on  a  mass  of  broken  stone,  which  hides  a  portion  c 
his  mother's  drapery,  but  leaves  the  position  of  he 
hand  uncertain.  The  infant  S.  John,  upright  upo: 
his  feet,  balancing  the  chief  group,  is  hazily  subordin 
ate.  The  whole  of  his  form  looms  blurred  through 
the  veil  of  stone,  and  what  his  two  hands  and  arms  ar 
doing  with  the  hidden  right  arm  and  hand  of  th 

1  Mr.  Pater,  Studies  in  the  History  of  the  Renaissance,  and  M.  Guillaunn 
L'CEuvre  et  la  F»«,  for  instance. 


Bas-Relief  of  Holy  Family 


ill 


CRITICISM   OF  THESE   MEDALLIONS.  113 

Virgin  may  hardly  be  conjectured.  It  is  clear  that 
on  this  side  of  the  composition  the  marble  was  to 
have  been  more  deeply  cut,  and  that  we  have  the 
hif'hest  surfaces  of  the  relief  brought  into  prominence 
at  those  points  where,  as  I  have  said,  little  is  want- 
ing but  the  finish  of  the  graver  and  the  file.  The 
Bargello  group  is  simpler  and  more  intelligible.  Its 
composition  by  masses  being  quite  apparent,  we 
can  easily  construct  the  incomplete  figure  of  S.  John 
in  the  background.  What  results  from  the  study 
of  these  two  circular  sketches  in  marble  is,  that 
although  Michelangelo  believed  all  sculpture  to  be 
imperfect  in  so  far  as  it  approached  the  style  of 
painting,^  yet  he  did  not  disdain  to  labour  in  stone 
with  various  planes  of  relief  which  should  produce 
the  effect  of  chiaroscuro.  Furthermore,  they  illus- 
trate what  Cellini  and  Vasari  have  ah-eady  taught 
us  about  his  method.  He  refused  to  work  by  piece- 
meal, but  began  by  disengaging  the  first,  the  second, 
then  the  third  surfaces,  following  a  model  and  a 
drawing  which  controlled  the  cutting.  Whether 
he  preferred  to  leave  off  when  his  idea  was  suffi- 
ciently indicated,  or  whether  his  numerous  engage- 
ments prevented  him  from  excavating  the  lowest 
surfaces,  and  lastly  polishing  the  whole,  is  a  ques- 
tion which  must  for  ever  remain  undecided.  Con- 
sidering the  exquisite  elaboration  given  to  the  Pietd. 
of  the  Vatican,  the  Madonna  at  Bruges,  the  Bacchus 
and  the  David,  the  Moses  and  parts  of  the  Medicean 

*  Lettere,  No.  cdliii. 
VOL.  I.  H 


114  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

monuments,  I  incline  to  think  that,  with  time  enough 
at  his  disposal,  he  would  have  carried  out  these 
rounds  in  all  their  details.  A  criticism  he  made 
on  Donatello,  recorded  for  us  by  Condivi,  to  the 
effect  that  this  great  master's  works  lost  their  proper 
effect  on  close  inspection  through  a  want  of  finish, 
confirms  my  opinion.^  Still  there  is  no  doubt 
that  he  must  have  been  pleased,  as  all  true  lovers 
of  art  are,  with  the  picturesque  effect — an  effect 
as  of  things  half  seen  in  dreams  or  emergent  from 
primeval  substances — which  the  imperfection  of  the 
craftsman's  labtJtir  leaves  upon  the  memory. 

At  this  time  Michelangelo's  mind  seems  to  have 
been  much  occupied  with  circular  compositions.  He 
painted  a  large  Holy  Family  of  this  shape  for  his 
friend  Angelo  Doni,  which  may,  I  think,  be  reckoned 
the  only  easel-picture  attributable  with  absolute  cer- 
tainty to  his  hand.^  Condivi  simply  says  that  he 
received  seventy  ducats  for  this  fine  work.  Vasari 
adds  one  of  his  prattling  stories  to  the  effect  that 
Doni  thought  forty  sufficient ;  whereupon  Michel- 
angelo took  the  picture  back,  and  said  he  would  not 

^  Condivi,  p.  22. 

2  If  the  enigmatical  Deposition  in  the  National  Gallery  be  really 
Michelangelo's  work,  it  might  perhaps  be  assigned  to  this  period.  The 
head  of  the  old  man  supporting  Christ  seems  to  be  drawn  from  the  same 
model  as  the  S.  Joseph  ;  but  I  regard  this  as  a  feeble  attempt  to  repro- 
duce the  Doni  S.  Joseph  by  a  later  craftsman.  It  can  be  stated  here 
that  none  of  the  pictures  attributed  to  Michelangelo,  as  the  Fates  of 
the  Pitti  and  his  own  portrait  in  the  Capitol,  are  by  his  hand.  I  rely 
on  Heath  Wilson  for  the  Doni  Madonna  being  an  oil-painting.  Heath 
Wilson,  p.  60. 


THE   DONI    HOLY   FAMILY.  115 

let  it  go  for  less  than  a  hundred  :  Doni  then  offered 
the  original  sum  of  seventy,  but  Michelangelo  re- 
plied that  if  he  was  bent  on  bargaining  he  should 
not  pay  less  than   140.     Be  this  as  it  may,  one  of 
the    most    characteristic    products    of   the   master's 
ffenius  came   now  into   existence.      The    Madonna 
is  seated  in   a   kneeling   position  on  the  ground; 
she  throws  herself  vigorously  backward,  lifting  the 
little  Christ   upon   her  right    arm,    and  presenting 
him  to  a   bald-headed  old  man,    S.   Joseph,  who 
seems  about  to  take  him  in  his  arms.    This  group, 
which   forms    a  tall  pyramid,   is  balanced  on  both 
sides    by   naked   figures    of   young    men    reclining 
against  a  wall  at  some  distance,  while  a  remarkably 
ugly  little  S.  John  can  be  discerned  in  one  corner. 
There  is  something  very  powerful  and  original  in 
the  composition  of  this  sacred  picture,  which,  as  in 
the  case  of  all  Michelangelo's  early  work,  develops 
the  previous  traditions  of  Tuscan  art  on  lines  which 
no  one  but  himself  could  have  discovered.    The  cen- 
tral figure  of  the  Madonna,  too,  has  always  seemed 
to  me  a  thing  of  marvellous  beauty,  and  of  stupendous 
power  in  the  strained  attitude  and  nobly  modelled 
arms.     It  has  often  been  asked  what  the  male  nudes 
have  got  to  do  with  the  subject.     Probably  Michel- 
angelo intended  in  this   episode  to   surpass  a  Ma- 
donna by  Luca    Signorelli,  with  whose    genius   he 
obviously  was  in  sympathy,  and  who  felt,  like  him, 
the  supreme  beauty  of  the  naked  adolescent  form. 
Signorelli  had  painted  a  circular  Madonna  with  two 


ii6  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

nudes  in  the  landscape  distance  for  Lorenzo  de'  Me- 
dici. The  picture  is  hung  now  in  the  gallery  of  the 
Uffizi.  It  is  enough  perhaps  to  remark  that  Michel- 
angelo needed  these  figures  for  his  scheme,  and  for 
filling  the  space  at  his  disposal.  He  was  either  un- 
able or  unwilling  to  compose  a  background  of  trees, 
meadows,  and  pastoral  folk  in  the  manner  of  his 
predecessors.  Nothing  but  the  infinite  variety  of 
human  forms  upon  a  barren  stage  of  stone  or  arid 
earth  would  suit  his  haughty  sense  of  beauty.  The 
nine  persons  who  make  up  the  picture  are  all  care- 
fully studied  from  the  life,  and  bear  a  strong  Tus- 
can stamp.  S.  John  is  literally  ignoble,  and  Christ 
is  a  commonplace  child.  The  Virgin  Mother  is  a 
magnificent  contadina  in  the  plenitude  of  adult 
womanhood.  Those,  however,  who  follow  Mr. 
E-uskin  in  blaming  Michelangelo  for  carelessness 
about  the  human  face  and  head,  should  not  fail  to 
notice  what  sublime  dignity  and  grace  he  has  com- 
municated to  his  model  here.  In  technical  execu- 
tion the  Doni  Madonna  is  faithful  to  old  Florentine 
usage,  but  lifeless  and  unsympathetic.  We  are  dis- 
agreeably reminded  by  every  portion  of  the  surface 
that  Lionardo's  subtle  play  of  tones  and  modulated 
shades,  those  sfumature,  as  Italians  call  them,  which 
transfer  the  mystic  charm  of  nature  to  the  canvas, 
were  as  yet  unknown  to  the  great  draughtsman. 
There  is  more  of  atmosphere,  of  colour  suggestion, 
and  of  chiaroscuro  in  the  marble  tondi  described 
above.      Moreover,  in  spite  of  very  careful  model- 


DoNi  Holy  Family — Uffizi. 


CARTOONS    FOR   THE   GREAT   SALA.  117 

lig,  Michelangelo  has  failed  to  make  us  feel  the 

sccessive  planes  of  his   composition.      The  whole 

sems  flat,  and  each  distance,  instead  of  being  gradu- 

fed,  starts  forward  to  the  eye.     He  required,  at  this 

jriod  of  his  career,  the  relief  of  sculpture  in  order 

t  express  the  roundness  of  the  human  form  and  the 

ilative  depth  of  objects  placed  in  a  receding  order. 

]  anything  were  needed  to    make   us   believe  the 

ory  of  his  saying  to  Pope  Julius  II.  that  sculpture 

id  not  painting  was  his  trade,  this  superb  design, 

»  deficient  in  the  essential  qualities    of  painting 

oper,   would    suffice.      Men   infinitely  inferior  to 

mself  in  genius  and  sense  of  form,  a  Perugino, 

i  Francia,  a  Fra  Bartolommeo,  an  Albertinelli,  pos- 

!ssed  more  of  the    magic  which  evokes  pictorial 

3auty.    Nevertheless,  with  all  its  aridity,  rigidity,  and 

most  repulsive  hardness  of  colour,  the  Doni  Madonna 

inks  among  the  great  pictures  of  the  world.     Once 

len  it  will  never  be  forgotten :    it  tyrannises  and 

ominates  the  imagination  by  its  titanic  power  of 

rawing.     No  one,  except  perhaps  Lionardo,  could 

raw  like  that,  and  Lionardo  would  not  have  allowed 

is  linear  scheme  to  impose  itself  so  remorselessly 

pon  the  mind. 


k| 


VI. 


Just  at  this  point  of  his  development,  Michel- 
ngelo  was  brought  into  competition  with  Lionardo 


ii8  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 


II 


da  Vinci,  the  only  living  rival  worthy  of  his  geniui  i 
During  the  year  1503  Piero  Soderini  determined  t 
adorn  the  hall  of  the  Great  Council  in  the  Palazz 
Vecchio  vrith  huge  mural  frescoes,  which  shoul 
represent  scenes  in  Florentine  history.  Document 
regarding  the  commencement  of  these  works  an 
the  contracts  made  with  the  respective  artists  ai 
unfortunately  wanting.  But  it  appears  that  E 
Vinci  received  a  commission  for  one  of  the  Ion 
walls  in  the  autumn  of  that  year.^  We  have  it  en 
of  expenditure  on  record  which  show  that  tb 
Municipality  of  Florence  assigned  him  the  Sa" 
del  Papa  at  S.  Maria  Novella  before  Februai 
1504,  and  were  preparing  the  necessary  furnitui 
for  the  construction  of  his  Cartoon.^  It  seems  th 
he  was  hard  at  work  upon  the  i  st  of  April,  receivir 
fifteen  golden  florins  a  month  for  his  labour.  Tl 
subject  which  he  chose  to  treat  was  the  battle 
Anghiari  in  1440,  when  the  Florentine  mercenari 
entirely  routed  the  troops  of  Filippo  Maria  Viscon* 
led  by  Niccolb  Piccinino,  one  of  the  greatest  genera 
of  his  age.^     In  August  1 504  Soderini  commissions 

1  Crowe  and  Cavalcaselle,  Life  of  Eaphaely  vol.  i.  p.  213. 

2  Gaye,  vol.  ii.  p.  88.  When  Martin  V.  took  up  his  residence 
Florence  in  141 9,  quarters  were  assigned  to  him  at  S.  Maria  Novel 
They  came  by  custom  to  be  regarded  as  the  abode  of  Popes  on  a  vi 
to  the  city.  In  the  days  of  Eugenius  IV.,  1439,  when  the  Gre 
Council  was  transferred  from  Ferrara  to  Florence,  a  large  hall  \ 
erected  for  its  sittings.  See  L'Osservatore  Fiorentino  (Firenze ;  Ri(i 
1 821),  vol.  iii.  p.  135,  for  a  description  of  the  locality. 

3  Capponi,  Storia  della  Eep.  di  Firenze,  vol.  ii.  p.  22.  This  was  ( 
of  the  bloodless  battles  of  Condottiere  warfare.  Machiavelli  says  t 
only  one  man  was  killed  ;  yet  it  had  important  political  results. 


LIONARDO   AND   MICHELANGELO.  119 

ichelangelo  to  prepare  Cartoons  for  the  opposite 
11  of  the  great  Sala,  and  assigned  to  him  a  work- 
op  in  the  Hospital  of  the  Dyers  at  S.  Onofrio.  A 
inute  of  expenditure,  under  date  October  31,  1504, 
ows  that  the  paper  for  the  Cartoon  had  been 
eady  provided ;  and  Michelangelo  continued  to 
iork  upon  it  until  his  call  to  Eome  at  the  beginning 
1505.  Lionardo's  battle-piece  consisted  of  two 
l*oups  on  horseback  engaged  in  a  fierce  struggle 
T  a  standard.  Michelangelo  determined  to  select 
subject  which  should  enable  him  to  display  all 
is  power  as  the  supreme  draughtsman  of  the  nude. 
|)[e  chose  an  episode  from  the  war  with  Pisa,  when, 
the  28th  of  July  1364,  a  band  of  400  Florentine 
Dldiers  were  surprised  bathing  by  Sir  John  Hawk- 
^ood  and  his  English  riders.  It  goes  by  the  name 
f  the  Battle  of  Pisa,  though  the  event  really  took 
lace  at  Cascina  on  the  Arno,  some  six  miles  above 
bat  city.^ 

We  have  every  reason  to  regard  the  composition 
f  this  Cartoon  as  the  central  point  in  Michel- 
ingelo^s  life  as  an  artist.  It  was  the  watershed, 
0  to  speak,  which  divided  his  earlier  from  his 
ater  manner;  and  if  we  attach  any  value  to  the 
ritical  judgment  of  his  enthusiastic  admirer,  Cellini, 
iven  the  roof  of  the  Sistine  fell  short  of  its  per- 
ection.  Important,  however,  as  it  certainly  is  in 
he  history  of  his  development,  I  must  defer  speak- 

^  See  Moritz  Thausing,  Michelangelo s  Entwurf  zu  dem  Karton.    Leip- 
ig :  Seemann,  1878. 


I20  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

ing  of  it  in  detail  until  the  end  of  the  next  chaptei 
For  some  reason  or  other,  unknown  to  us,  he  lei 
his  work  unfinished  early  in  1505,  and  went,  a 
the  Pope's  invitation,  to  Eome.  When  he  returned 
in  the  ensuing  year,  to  Florence,  he  resumed  ani 
completed  the  design.  Some  notion  of  its  siz 
may  be  derived  from  what  we  know  about  th 
materials  supplied  for  Lionardo's  Cartoon.  Thij 
say  Crowe  and  Cavalcaselle,  **was  made  up  of  on 
ream  and  twenty-nine  quires,  or  about  288  squar 
feet  of  royal  folio  paper,  the  mere  pasting  of  whicl 
necessitated  a  consumption  of  eighty-eight  pounds  c 
flour,  the  mere  lining  of  which  required  three  piec 
of  Florentine  linen."  ^ 

Condivi,  summing  up  his  notes  of  this  perio< 
spent  by  Michelangelo  at  Florence,  says :  ^  "  H 
stayed  there  some  time  without  working  to  muc. 
purpose  in  his  craft,  having  taken  to  the  study  c 
poets  and  rhetoricians  in  the  vulgar  tongue,  an 
to  the  composition  of  sonnets  for  his  pleasure. 
It  is  difficult  to  imagine  how  Michelangelo,  wit^ 
all  his  engagements,  found  the  leisure  to  pursu 
these  literary  amusements.  But  Condivi's  bic| 
graphy  is  the  sole  authentic  source  which  we  pes] 
sess  for  the  great  master's  own  recollections  c 
his  past  life.  It  is,  therefore,  not  improbable  tha 
in  the  sentence  I  have  quoted  we  may  find  som 
explanation  of  the  want  of  finish  observable  in  hi 
productions  at  this  point.     Michelangelo  was,  to 

1  Life  ofEaphaelf  vol.  i.  p.  213.  '  Condivi,  p.  23. 


LITERARY   RECREATIONS.  i2i 

ge    extent,    a   dreamer;    and    this    single    phrase 

rows  light  upon  the  expense  of  time,  the  barren 

baces,  in  his   long  laborious  life.     The  poems  we 

low  possess  by  his  pen  are   clearly  the  wreck  of 

vast  multitude ;  and  most  of  those  accessible  in 

anuscript   and   print   belong   to  a   later  stage   of 

is   development.     Still    the    fact   remains   that   in 

ly  manhood  he  formed  the  habit  of  conversing 

ith  writers  of  Italian  and  of  fashioning  his  own 

oughts   into   rhyme.     His  was  a  nature    capable 

deed  of  vehement  and  fiery  activity,  but  by  con- 

titution    somewhat    saturnine   and    sluggish,    only 

nergetic    when    powerfully    stimulated ;    a    medi- 

ative   man,    glad   enough    to    be    inert   when   not 

purred  forward  on  the  path  of  strenuous  achieve- 

aent.    And    so,    it   seems,    the    literary   bent   took 

Lold   upon    him    as    a   relief    from    labour,    as    an 

xcuse   for   temporary  inaction.      In   his    own    art, 

ffljhe  art  of  design,  whether  this  assumed  the  form 

){  sculpture  or  of  painting  or  of  architecture,  he 

II  ;lid   nothing  except  at   the  highest  pressure.     All 

1  lis  accomplished  work  shows  signs  of  the  intensest 

I  cerebration.     But  he  tried  at  times  to  slumber,  sunk 

sfn  a  wise   passiveness.     Then  he   communed  with 

iihe  poets,  the  prophets,   and   the   prose- writers  of 

ifiis  country.     We  can  well  imagine,  therefore,  that, 

15  tired  with  the  labours  of  the  chisel  or  the  brush, 

liie  gladly  gave  himself  to  composition,  leaving  half 

ijinished   on   his   easel   things  which   had   for  him 

.heir  adequate  accomplishment. 


122  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

I  think  it  necessary  to  make  these  suggestions 
because,  in  my  opinion,  Michelangelo's  inner  lifii 
and  his  literary  proclivities  have  been  hitherto  tod 
much  neglected  in  the  scheme  of  his  psychology! 
Dazzled  by  the  splendour  of  his  work,  critics  ar( 
content  to  skip  spaces  of  months  and  years,  durin 
which  the  creative  genius  of  the  man  smouldered 
It  is,  as  I  shall  try  to  show,  in  those  intervals,  diml; 
revealed  to  us  by  what  remains  of  his  poems  an( 
his  correspondence,  that  the  secret  of  this  man,  a 
once  so  tardy  and  so  energetic,  has  to  be  discovered 

A  great  master  of  a  different  temperament,  les 
solitary,  less  saturnine,   less    sluggish,   would  hav 
formed  a   school,   as    Raffaello    did.     Michelangel 
formed  no  school,  and  was  incapable  of  confiding  th 
execution  of  his  designs  to  any  subordinates.     Thii 
is  also  a  point  of  the  highest  importance  to  insisi 
upon.     Had   he  been   other  than  he   was — a   gr 
garious  man,  contented  with  the  d  jpeu  pr^s  in  art- 
he  might  have  sent  out  all  those  twelve  Apostles  fc 
the  Duomo  from  his  workshop.    Raffaello  would  hav 
done  so  ;  indeed,  the  work  which  bears  his  name  i 
Rome   could  not  have  existed  except  under  thes 
conditions.     Now  nothing  is  left  to  us  of  the  tweh 
Apostles  except  a  rough-hewn  sketch  of  S.  Matthew 
Michelangelo  was  unwilling  or  unable  to  organise 
band  of  craftsmen  fairly  interpretative  of  his  mar 
ner.     When  his  own  hand  failed,  or  when  he  lo; 
the  passion  for  his  labour,  he  left  the  thing  m 
finished.     And  much  of  this  incompleteness  in  h 


i 


SOLITARY   HABITS.  123 

jfe-work  seems  to  me  due  to  his  being  what  I  called 
|,  dreamer.  He  lacked  the  merely  business  faculty, 
he  power  of  utilising  hands  and  brains.  He  could 
lot  bring  his  genius  into  open  market,  and  stamp 

ferior  productions  with  his  countersign.  Willingly 
e  retired  into  the  solitude  of  his  own  self,  to  com- 

une  with  great  poets  and  to  meditate  upon  high 
houghts,  while  he  indulged  the  emotions  arising 
rom  forms  of  strength  and  beauty  presented  to  his 
aze  upon  the  pathway  of  experience. 


!« 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Giuliano  della  Rovere,  Pope  Julius  II. — His  political  and  persona 
character. — Calls  Michelangelo  to  Rome  in  1505. — The  affinitj 
between  the  two  men. — 2.  Julius  decides  to  build  a  monumen 
for  himself. — Sends  Michelangelo  to  Carrara  to  quarry  marble.— 
3.  The  Tragedy  of  the  Tomb. — Condi vi's  account  of  the  first  pro 
ject. — Drawings  in  existence  throw  no  certain  light  upon  it- 
History  of  changes  in  the  design. — The  contract  of  May  6,  15 13. 
Professor  Middleton's  reconstruction  of  this  design. — Fragment 
still  existing  from  the  marble  sculptured. — The  contract  of  July  8 
1 5 16. — Great  reduction  in  the  scale  of  the  Tomb. — Contract  0 
April  29,  1532. — Farther  reduction  in  the  part  assigned  to  Michel 
angelo. — Final  contract  of  August  20,  1542. — Completion  of  th 
monument  now  at  S.  Pietro  in  Vincoli. — 4.  Return  to  Michel 
angelo's  life  at  Rome  in  1505. — Julius  decides  to  rebuild  S.  Peter's 
— History  of  the  old  Basilica. — Bramante  designs  a  new  church.— 
Braniante's  untrustworthiness. — Julius  lays  the  foundation  of  S 
Peter's  on  April  18,  1506. — 5.  Differences  between  Julius  am 
Michelangelo. — The  Pope  grows  cold  about  the  Tomb. — Michel 
angelo  leaves  Rome  in  a  rage. — Various  accounts  of  what  happenec 
on  this  occasion. — 6.  Reaches  Florence  in  April. — Stays  them 
about  six  months. — Begins  to  work  again  upon  the  Cartoon  for  thi 

V^Battle  of  Pisa. — Loss  of  Lionardo's  fresco. — Destruction  of  Michel 
angelo's  Cartoon. — Vasari's  two  accounts  of  how  this  happened.— 
Cellini's  description  of  the  Cartoon. — 7.  Vasari's  description.— 
What  we  know  about  it  at  the  present  time. — It  was  the  turning 
point  in  Michelangelo's  career  as  artist. — Story  about  his  meeting 
with  Lionardo. 


I. 

Among  the  many  nephews  whom  Sixtus  IV.  hac 
raised   to   eminence,   the    most    distinguished   was 

x»4 


POPE  JULIUS   11.  125 

riuliano   della    Rovere,    Cardinal   of   S.    Pietro   in 

^incoli,  and  Bishop  of  Ostia.     This  man  possessed 

fiery  temper,  indomitable  energy,  and  the  comba- 

ive  instinct  which  takes  delight  in  fighting  for  its 

wn  sake.     Nature  intended  him  for  a  warrior ;  and, 

hough  circumstances  made  him  chief  of  the  Church, 

lie  discharged  his  duties  as  a  Pontifi*  in  the  spirit  of 

general  and  a  conqueror.     When  Julius  II.  was 

lected  in  November  1503,  it  became  at  once  appa- 

lent  that  he  intended  to  complete  what  his  hated 

;.  Predecessors,  the  Borgias,  had  begun,  by  reducing 

\o  his  sway  all  the  provinces  over  which  the  See 

if  Rome   had   any  claims,   and  creating  a  central 

i)0wer  in  Italy.     Unlike  the   Borgias,  however,  he 

sntertained  no  plan   of  raising  his  own  family  to 

sovereignty  at  the  expense  of  the  Papal  power.     The 

'Delia   Roveres    were   to    be    contented    with   their 

iDuchy  of  Urbino,  which  came  to  them  by  inherit- 

lince  from  the  Montefeltri.     Julius  dreamed  of  Italy 

,br  the  Italians,  united  under  the  hegemony  of  the 

Supreme   Pontiff,    who    from    Rome    extended   his 

^jpiritual  authority  and  political  influence  over  the 

j  jvhole  of  Western  Europe.     It  does  not  enter  into 

■  :he  scheme  of  this  book  to  relate  the  series  of  wars 

I  md  alliances  in  which  this  belligerent  Pope  involved 

[lis  country,  and  the  final  failure   of  his  policy,  so 

far  as  the  liberation  of  Italy  from  the  barbarians 

was  concerned.     Suffice  it  to  say,  that  at  the  close 

,  of  his  stormy  reign  he  had  reduced  the  States  of 

the  Church   to   more   or   less    complete   obedience. 


126 


LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 


bequeathing  to  his  successors  an  ecclesiastical  king 
dom  which  the  enfeebled  condition  of  the  peninsula 
at  large  enabled  them  to  keep  intact. 

There  was  nothing  petty  or  mean  in  Julius  II. 
his  very  faults  bore  a  grandiose  and  heroic  aspect| 
Turbulent,   impatient,   inordinate   in   his   ambition 
reckless  in  his  choice  of  means,  prolific  of  immens(| 
projects,  for  which  a  lifetime  would  have  been  tO(| 
short,  he  filled  the  ten  years  of  his  pontificate  witl 
a  din   of  incoherent  deeds   and  vast  schemes  hall 
accomplished.    Such  was  the  man  who  called  Michel 
angelo   to   E-ome   at   the   commencement   of    1505 
Why  the  sculptor  was  willing  to  leave  his  Cartoo 
unfinished,  and  to  break  his  engagement  with  th 
Operai  del  Duomo,  remains  a  mystery.     It  is  saic 
that  the  illustrious  architect,  Giuliano  da  San  Gall 
who  had  worked  for  Julius  while  he  was  cardina 
and  was  now  his  principal  adviser  upon  matters  o| 
art,  suggested   to  the  Pope  that  Buonarroti  coul 
serve  him  admirably  in  his  ambitious  enterprises  fo 
the  embellishment  of  the  Eternal  City.     We  do  no 
know  for  certain  whether  Julius,  when  he  summone 
Michelangelo  from  Florence,  had  formed  the  desig 
of  engaging  him  upon  a  definite  piece  of  work.    Th 
first  weeks  of  his  residence  in  Rome  are  said  to  hav 
been  spent  in  inactivity,  until  at  last  Julius  proposed 
to  erect   a  huge  monument  of  marble  for  his  owi 
tomb.^ 


^  This  is  Condivi's  statement.     StiU  the  Pope  may  have  made  somj 
definite  proposal  before  Michelangelo  left  Florence.     Condivi  thougl 


SYMPATHY   BETWEEN   POPE   AND   ARTIST.     127 

Thus  began  the   second   and   longest  period   of 

iiichelangelo*s    art-industry.       Henceforth    he    was 

estined  to  labour  for  a  series  of  Popes,  following 

heir  whims  with  distracted  energies  and  a  lament- 

,ble   waste    of   time.      The    incompleteness   which 

aarks  so  much  of  his  performance  was  due  to  the 

apid  succession  of  these  imperious  masters,  each  in 

urn  careless  about  the  schemes  of  his  predecessor, 

nd  bent  on  using  the  artist's  genius  for  his  own 

>rofit.     It  is  true  that  nowhere  but  in  Rome  could 

Michelangelo  have  received  commissions  on  so  vast 

I  scale.     Nevertheless  we  cannot  but  regret  the  fate 

^hich  drove  him  to    consume    years    of  hampered 

ndustry  upon  what  Condi vi  calls  "  the  tragedy  of 

Tulius's  tomb,"  upon  quarrying  and  road-making  for 

Lieo  X.,  upon  the  abortive  plans  at  S.  Lorenzo,  and 

ipon   architectural   and    engineering  works,   which 

vere  not  strictly  within  his  province.      At  first  it 

eemed  as  though  fortune  was  about  to  smile  on 

lim.      In   Julius    he   found    a    patron   who   could 

pinderstand  and  appreciate   his   powers.      Between 

|i;he    two    men    there    existed    a    strong    bond    of 

jjympathy  due  to  community  of  temperament.    Both 

pmed  at  colossal  achievements  in  their  respective 

jiields  of  action.     The  imagination  of  both  was  fired 

y   large    and    simple    rather    than    luxurious    and 

ubtle  thoughts.     Both  were  uomini  terrihili,  to  use 

jtie  went  there  immediately  after  Julius's  election  (November  1 503).  He 
iknew  that  he  did  not  begin  to  work  till  1505  ;  so  he  had  a  whole  year 
left  unaccounted  for. 


128  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

a  phrase  denoting  vigour  of  character  and  energy  of 
genius,  made  formidable  by  an  abrupt,  uncompro- 
mising spirit.  Both  worked  with  what  the  Italians 
call  fury,  with  the  impetuosity  of  daemonic  natures ; 
and  both  left  the  impress  of  their  individuality 
stamped  indelibly  upon  their  age.  Julius,  in  al 
things  grandiose,  resolved  to  signalise  his  reig 
by  great  buildings,  great  sculpture,  great  pictorial 
schemes.  There  was  nothing  of  the  dilettante  and 
collector  about  him.  He  wanted  creation  at  a 
rapid  rate  and  in  enormous  quantities.  To  indulg 
this  craving,  he  gathered  round  him  a  band  o; 
demigods  and  Titans,  led  by  Bramante,  Raflfaello 
Michelangelo,  and  enjoyed  the  spectacle  of  a  ne\^ 
world  of  art  arising  at  his  bidding  through  then 
industry  of  brain  and  hand. 


II. 

What  followed  upon  Michelangelo's  arrival  ill 
Rome  may  be  told  in  Condivi's  words  :  ^  "  Having] 
reached  Rome,  many  months  elapsed  before  Juliu 

^  Condivi,  p.  23.  He  is  wrong  about  the  many  months^  because  h 
tliought  that  Michelangelo  came  to  Rome  at  the  end  of  1503.  HI 
really  came  early  in  1505,  perhaps  after  February  28,  when  a  paymem 
was  made  to  him  for  the  Cartoon  (Gaye,  ii.  p.  93).  He  went  in  April 
of  that  year  to  quarry  marbles  at  Carrara.  The  delay  was,  therefore,  cl 
at  most  a  few  weeks,  during  which  he  may  have  designed  the  tomb  c| 
Julius. 


i3t 


1 


OM 


THE   TOMB   OF  JULIUS.  129 

jcided  on  what  great  work  he  would  employ  him. 
t  last  it  occurred  to  him  to  use  his  genius  in  the 
mstruction  of  his  own  tomb.  The  design  furnished 
J  Michelangelo  pleased  the  Pope  so  much  that  he 
nt  him  off  immediately  to  Carrara,  with  commis- 
on  to  quarry  as  much  marble  as  was  needful  for 
lat  undertaking.  Two  thousand  ducats  were  put 
his  credit  with  Alamanni  Salviati  at  Florence  for 
cpenses.  He  remained  more  than  eight  months 
nong  those  mountains,  with  two  servants  and  a 
rse,  but  without  any  salary  except  his  keep.  One 
y,  while  inspecting  the  locality,  the  fancy  took 
m  to  convert  a  hill  which  commands  the  sea-shore 
to  a  Colossus,  visible  by  mariners  afar.  The  shape 
the  huge  rock,  which  lent  itself  admirably  to 
ich  a  purpose,  attracted  him ;  and  he  was  further 
lOved  to  emulate  the  ancients,  who,  sojourning  in 
le  place  perad venture  with  the  same  object  as  him- 
jlf,  in  order  to  while  away  the  time,  or  for  some 
ther  motive,  have  left  certain  unfinished  and  rough- 
ewn  monuments,  which  give  a  good  specimen  of 
ieir  craft.     And  assuredly  he  would  have  carried 

^  at  this  scheme,  if  time  enough  had  been  at  his 
isposal,  or  if  the  special  purpose  of  his  visit  to 
arrara  had  permitted.  I  one  day  heard  him  lament 
Utterly  that  he  had  not  done  so.  Well,  then,  after 
uarrying  and  selecting  the  blocks  which  he  deemed 
efficient,  he  had  them  brought  to  the  sea,  and  left 

M\  man  of  his  to  ship  them  off.  He  returned  to 
Lome,  and  having  stopped  some  days  in  Florence 

VOL.  I.  I 


set 


irei  ' 


", 


I30  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

on  the  way,  when  he  arrived  there,  he  found  th 
part  of  the  marble  had  already  reached  the  Eipa^«! 
There  he  had  them  disembarked,  and  carried  to  th 
Piazza  of  S.  Peter's  behind  S.  Caterina,  where  h 
kept  his  lodging,  close  to  the  corridor  connectin 
the  Palace  with  the  Castle  of  S.  Angelo.  Th 
quantity  of  stone  was  enormous,  so  that,  when 
was  all  spread  out  upon  the  square,  it  stirred  amaze 
ment  in  the  minds  of  most  folk,  but  joy  in  tt 
Pope's.  Julius  indeed  began  to  heap  favours  upo 
Michelangelo ;  for  when  he  had  begun  to  work,  th 
Pope  used  frequently  to  betake  himself  to  his  hous 
conversing  there  with  him  about  the  tomb,  an 
about  other  works  which  he  proposed  to  carry  oi 
in  concert  with  one  of  his  brothers.^  In  order  1 
arrive  more  conveniently  at  Michelangelo's  lod| 
ings,  he  had  a  drawbridge  thrown  across  from  tl 
corridor,  by  which  he  might  gain  privy  access." 

The  date  of  Michelangelo's  return  to  Rome 
fixed  approximately  by  a  contract  signed  at  Carr 
between  him  and  two  shipowners  of  Lavagna.  Th 
deed  is  dated  November  12,  1505.  It  shows  thi 
thirty-four  cartloads  of  marble  were  then  ready  f 
shipment,  together  with  two  figures  weighing  fifte( 
cartloads  more.  We  have  a  right  to  assume  th 
Michelangelo    left    Carrara    soon   after   completir 

*  That  is,  the  Tiber  shore  below  the  Aventine.  The  right  bank 
still  called  Porto  di  Eipa,  and  the  left  Marmorata. 

^  Probably  Giovanni,  Prefect  of  Rome,  and  founder  of  the  Delia  Rov( 
dynasty  at  Urbino. 


FIRST   PLAN   FOR   THE   TOMB.  131 

s  transaction.  Allowing,  then,  for  the  journey 
d  the  halt  at  Florence,  he  probably  reached  Rome 
the  last  week  of  that  month. ^ 


I 


III. 

The  first  act  in  the  tragedy  of  the  sepulchre  had 

►w  begun,  and  Michelangelo  was  embarked  upon 

le  of  the  mightiest  undertakings  which  a  sovereign 

the  stamp  of  Julius  ever  intrusted  to  a  sculptor 

his  titanic  energy.     In  order  to  form  a  concep- 

mn  of  the  magnitude  of  the  enterprise,  I  am  forced 

enter  into  a  discussion  regarding  the  real  nature 

the  monument.     This   offers    innumerable    diffi- 

Ities,  for  we  only  possess  imperfect  notices  regard- 

ig^the  original  design,  and  two  doubtful  drawings 

tlonging  to  an  uncertain  period.     Still  it  is  im- 

pssible  to  understand  those  changes  in  the  Basilica 

<"  S.  Peter's  which  were  occasioned  by  the  project 

<"  Julius,  or  to  comprehend  the  immense  annoyances 

>  which  the  tomb  exposed  Michelangelo,  without 

^•appling   with   its    details.       Condivi's    text    must 

srve  for  guide.     This,   in  fact,  is  the  sole  source 

i  any  positive  value.     He   describes  the  tomb,  as 

3  believed  it  to  have   been  first  planned,   in  the 

allowing  paragraph  :  ^ — 

I  "  To  give  some  notion  of  the  monument,  I  will 

^  See  Vasari,  xii.  p.  346.  2  Condivi,  p.  26. 


132  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

say  that  it  was  intended  to  have  four  faces :  two 
eighteen  cubits,  serving  for  the  sides,  and  two 
twelve  for  the  ends,  so  that  the  whole  formed  o 
great  square  and  a  half.^     Surrounding  it  externa 
were  niches  to  be  filled  with  statues,  and  betwe 
each  pair  of  niches  stood  terminal  figures,  to  tl| 
front  of  which  were  attached  on  certain  consoles  p: 
jecting  from  the  wall  another  set  of  statues  bouil 
like  prisoners.     These  represented  the  Liberal  Aji| 
and  likewise  Painting,  Sculpture,  Architecture,  ea 
with  characteristic  emblems,  rendering  their  iden 
fication  easy.     The  intention  was  to  show  that 
the  talents  had  been  taken  captive  by  death,  toget 
with    Pope    Julius,    since    never   would    they   fi 
another  patron  to   cherish  and  encourage  them 
he  had  done.     Above  these  figures  ran  a  corni 
giving   unity  to   the  whole  work.     Upon   the   fl| 
surface  formed  by  this  cornice  were  to  be  four  la 
statues,  one  of  which,  that  is,  the  Moses,  now  exi 
at  S.   Pietro  ad  Vincula.    And   so,  arriving  at  t| 
summit,  the  tomb  ended  in  a  level  space,  where 
were    two    angels   who    supported    a   sarcophag 
One  of  them  appeared  to  smile,  rejoicing  that  tl 
soul   of  the    Pope   had   been   received   among  t| 
blessed  spirits  ;  the  other  seemed  to  weep,  as  sorro 
ing  that  the  world  had  been  robbed  of  such  a  ma 
From  one  of  the  ends,  that  is,  by  the  one  which  y^ 

1  According  to  Heath  Wilson,  34J  feet  English  by  23  (p.  74). 
^  Vasari  speaks  of  Heaven  rejoicing,  and  Cybele,  the  goddess  of  ea 
lamenting.     Vol.  xii.  p.  181. 


CONDIVrS   AND   VASARI'S   STATEMENTS.      133 

the  head  of  the  monument,  access  was  given  to 

little  chamber  like   a  chapel,  enclosed  within  the 

anument,  in  the  midst   of  which  was  a   marble 

est,  wherein  the  corpse  of  the  Pope  was  meant 

be    deposited.      The    whole   would    have    been 

ecuted   with    stupendous    finish.      In    short,    the 

pulchre   included    more    than    forty   statues,    not 

unting  the  histories  in  half-relielsTmade  of  bronze, 

I  of  them  pertinent  to  the  general  scheme  and 

resentative  of  the  mighty  Pontiff's  actions." 

Vasari's    account  differs   in    some    minor   details 

bm  Condivi's,  but  it  is  of  no  authoritative  value. 

pt  having  appeared  in  the  edition  of  1550,  we  may 

igard  it  as  a  rechauffee  of  Condi vi,  with  the  usual 

luce  provided  by  the  Are  tine's  imagination.     The 

(ily  addition   I   can    discover  which  throws  light 

3on  Condivi's  narrative  is  that  the  statues  in  the 

:iiches  were  meant  to  represent  provinces  conquered 

>  Julius.     This  is  important,  because  it  leads  us  to 

'mjecture  that  Vasari   knew  a  drawing  now  pre- 

;5rved  in  the  Uffizi,  and  sought,  by  its  means,   to 

Id  something  to  his  predecessor's  description.     The 

'rawing  will  occupy  our  attention  shortly;    but  it 

lay  here  be  remarked  that  in  1505,  the  date  of  the 

rst  project,  Julius  was  only  entering  upon  his  con- 

aests.     It  would  have  been  a  gross  act  of  flattery 

|q  the  part  of  the   sculptor,  a  flying  in  the  face 

Ijf  Nemesis  on  the  part  of  his  patron,  to  design  a 

Ifepulchre  anticipating  length  of  life  and  luck  suffi- 

ient  for  these  triumphs. 


134  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

What  then  Condivi  tells  us  about  the  first  schen 
is,   that  it  was  intended   to    stand  isolated  in  tlj 
tribune  of  S.  Peter's  ;  that  it  formed  a  rectangle 
a  square  and  half  a  square ;   that  the  podium  wl 
adorned  with  statues  in  niches  flanked  by  projectii 
dadoes  supporting  captive  arts,  ten  in  number ;  thi 
at  each  corner  of  the  platform  above  the  podiuj 
a  seated  statue  was  placed,  one  of  which  we  m 
safely  identify  with  the  Moses ;  and  that  above  th 
surmounting  the  whole  monument  by  tiers,  arose 
second  mass,  culminating  in  a  sarcophagus  support 
by  two  angels.     He  further  adds  that  the  tomb  w| 
entered  at  its  extreme  end  by  a  door,  which  led 
a  little   chamber  where  lay  the  body  of  the  Po 
and   that    bronze    bas-reliefs    formed    a    promin 
feature  of  the  total  scheme.     He  reckons  that  m 
than  forty  statues  would  have  been  required  to  ca 
plete  the  whole  design,  although  he  has  only  m 
tioned  twenty-two  of  the  most  prominent.^ 

More  than  this  we  do  not  know  about  the 
project.     We  have  no    contracts   and  no  sketcll 
that  can  be  referred  to  the  date  1505.     Much  cc 
fusion  has  been  introduced  into  the  matter  unci 
consideration  by  the  attempt  to  reconcile  Condi\ 
description  with  the   drawing  I  have  just  alludp 
to.     Heath  Wilson  even  used  that  drawing  to  i 
pugn  Condivi' s  accuracy  with  regard  to  the  numllr 
of  the  captives  and  the  seated  figures  on  the  pi 

1  On  tlie  calculation  of  ten  captives  on  consoles,  six  in  niches,  1  p 
seated  figures  on  the  platform,  and  two  angels. 


I 


DEVELOPMENT   OF   THE   PLAN.  135 

im.      The  drawing  in  question,  as  we  shall  pre- 

intly  see,  is  of  great  importance  for  the  subsequent 

istory  of  the  monument ;  and  I  believe  that  it  to 

)me  extent  preserves  the  general  aspect  which  the 

)mb,  as   first  designed,  was  intended  to    present. 

Vo  points  about  it,  however,  prevent  our  taking  it 

s  a  true  guide  to  Michelangelo's  original  concep- 

on.     One  is  that  it  is  clearly  only  part  of  a  larger 

cheme  of  composition.     The  other  is  that  it  shows 

L  sarcophagus,  not  supported  by  angels,  but  posed 

,ipon  the  platform.     Moreover,  it  corresponds  to  the 

ieclaration  appended  in    151 3  by  Michelangelo  to 

i;he  first   extant   document   we    possess   about   the 

:omb. 

Julius  died  in  February  15 13,  leaving,  it  is  said, 
to  his  executors  directions  that  his  sepulchre  should 
not  be  carried  out  upon  the  first  colossal  plan.^  If 
he  did  so,  they  seem  at  the  beginning  of  their  trust 
to  have  disregarded  his  intentions.  Michelangelo 
expressly  states  in  one  of  his  letters  that  the  Car- 
dinal of  Agen  wished  to  proceed  with  the  tomb, 
but  on  a  larger  scale.^  A  deed  dated  May  6,  15 13, 
was  signed,  at  the  end  of  which  Michelangelo  speci- 
fied the  details  of  the  new  design.  It  dijffered  from 
the  former  in  many  important  respects,  but  most  of 
all  in  the  fact  that  now  the  structure  was  to  be 

^  Two  of  the  executors — Lorenzo  Pucci,  afterwards  Cardinal  of  Santi- 
quattro,  and  Cardinal  Leonardo  Grosso  della  Rovere,  Bishop  of  Agen, 
commonly  called  Aginensis — were  specially  commissioned  to  see  the 
tomb  finished. 

^  Lettere,  No.  ccclxxxiii.,  to  Fattucci. 


LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

attached  to  the  wall  of  the  church.  I  cannot  c 
better  than  translate  Michelangelo's  specification 
They  run  as  follows:  ''Let  it  be  known  to  a{ 
men  that  I,  Michelangelo,  sculptor  of  Florenc 
undertake  to  execute  the  sepulchre  of  Pope  Juliil 
in  marble,  on  the  commission  of  the  Cardinal  Bi 
Agens  and  the  Datary  (Pucci),  who,  after  his  deatlj 
have  been  appointed  to  complete  this  work,  for  t 
sum  of  16,500  golden  ducats  of  the  Camera;  an! 
the  composition  of  the  said  sepulchre  is  to  be  i 
the  form  ensuing :  A  rectangle  visible  from  thr 
of  its  sides,  the  fourth  of  which  is  attached  to  t 
wall  and  cannot  be  seen.  The  front  face,  that  ii| 
the  head  of  this  rectangle,  shall  be  twenty  pal 
in  breadth  and  fourteen  in  height,  the  other  tw 
running  up  against  the  wall,  shall  be  thirty-fiv! 
palms  long  and  likewise  fourteen  palms  in  height 
Each  of  these  three  sides  shall  contain  two  tabe 
nacles,  resting  on  a  basement  which  shall  run  roun 
the  said  space,  and  shall  be  adorned  with  pilasten 
architrave,  frieze,  and  cornice,  as  appears  in  the  littl 
wooden  model.  In  each  of  the  said  six  tabernacle 
will  be  placed  two  figures  about  one  palm  talle 
than  life  {i.e.  6f  feet),  twelve  in  all;  and  in  fron 
of  each  pilaster  which  flanks  a  tabernacle  shal 
stand  a  figure  of  similar  size,  twelve  in  all.     On  th 


1  Lettere,  Contratto  xi.  p.  636. 

2  The  Italian  palmo  is  said  to  be  9  inches.  This  makes  the  dimen 
sions  work  out  as  follows  :  15  feet  by  26  feet  3  inches,  height  10  fee 
5  inches. 


CONTRACT   OF   1513.  137 

■atform  above  the  said  rectangular  structure  stands 
sarcophagus  with  four  feet,  as  may  be  seen  in  the 
odel,  upon  which  will  be  Pope  Julius  sustained 
J  two  angels  at  his  head,  with  two  at  his  feet ; 
taking  five  figures  on  the  sarcophagus,  all  larger 
^an  life,  that  is,  about  twice  the  size.^  Eound 
bout  the  said  sarcophagus  will  be  placed  six  dadoes 
|c  pedestals,  on  which  six  figures  of  the  same  di- 
jiensions  will  sit.  Furthermore,  from  the  platform, 
j^here  it  joins  the  wall,  springs  a  little  chapel  about 
tiirty-five  palms  high  (26  feet  3  inches),  which  shall 
JDntain  five  figures  larger  than  all  the  rest,  as  being 
iirther  from  the  eye.  Moreover,  there  shall  be  three 
iistories,  either  of  bronze  or  of  marble,  as  may 
lease  the  said  executors,  introduced  on  each  face 
f  the  tomb  between  one  tabernacle  and  another." 
l11  this  Michelangelo  undertook  to  execute  in  seven  . 
ears  for  the  stipulated  sum. 
The  new  project  involved  thirty-eight  colossal 
tatues  ;  and,  fortunately  for  our  understanding  of 
;,  we  may  be  said  with  almost  absolute  certainty 
0  possess  a  drawing  intended  to  represent  it.  Part 
f  this  is  a  pen-and-ink  sketch  at  the  Uffizi,  which 
as  frequently  been  published,  and  part  is  a  sketch 
a  the  Berlin  Collection.  These  have  been  put 
ogether  by  Professor  Middleton  of  Cambridge,  who 

^  The  dimensions  here  specified  seem  quite  extraordinary.  The 
odium  is  only  10  feet  6  inches  high  ;  but  the  figures  on  its  faces  are 
)  be  6  feet  9  inches  ;  those  upon  its  surface  to  be  about  1 1  feet  8  inches 
igh  ;  and  those  upon  the  cbapel  still  larger. 


, 


13^  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

has  also  made  out  a  key-plan  of  the  tomb.  Wit 
regard  to  its  proportions  and  dimensions  as  con 
pared  with  Michelangelo's  specification,  there  re 
main  some  difficulties,  with  which  I  cannot  see  th{ 
Professor  Middleton  has  grappled.^  It  is  perhaj 
not  improbable,  as  Heath  Wilson  suggested,  thj| 
the  drawing  had  been  thrown  off  as  a  picturesqi: 
forecast  of  the  monument  without  attention  to  seal 
Anyhow,  there  is  no  doubt  that  in  this  sketch,  5 

^happily  restored  by  Professor  Middleton's  sagacil 
and  tact,  we  are  brought  close  to  Michelangelo 
conception  of  the  colossal  work  he  never  w{ 
allowed  to  execute.  It  not  only  answers  to  tl 
description  translated  above  from  the  sculptor's  ow, 
appendix  to  the  contract,  but  it  also  throws  lig] 
upon  the  original  plan  of  the  tomb  designed  for  tl 
tribune  of  S.  Peter's.  The  basement  of  the  podiu 
has  been  preserved,  we  may  assume,  in  its  mo: 
salient  features.      There  are  the  niches  spoken 

N.^  by  Condivi,  with  Vasari's  conquered  provinces  pro 
trate  at  the  feet  of  winged  Victories.  These  a 
flanked  by  the  terminal  figures,  against  which,  up( 
projecting  consoles,  stand  the  bound  captives, 
the  right  hand  facing  us,  upon  the  upper  platfori 
is  seated  Moses,  with  a  different  action  of  the  banc 
it   is   true,    from   that   which    Michelangelo  final 

1  See  Heath  Wilson,  pp.  196,  197,  for  a  statement  of  these  disc 
pancies  and  a  criticism  of  the  specification.  Professor  Middlel 
regards  the  drawings  he  has  so  ably  brought  together  as  only  form: 
one  of  many  sketches  furnished  by  Michelangelo  "  after  the  death 
Pope  Julius." 


u 

J 


/^ 


aiumk 
J- ^ 


L_ \ \ 

This  Reconstruction  is  due  to  Professor  Middleton,  of  Cambridge. 


SECONJD   CONTRACT   OF    1 516.  13^ 

xdopted.  Near  him  is  a  female  figure,  and  the  two 
"figures  grouped  upon  the  left  angle  seem  to  be  both 
female.  To  some  extent  these  statues  bear  out 
Vasari's  tradition  that  the  platform  in  the  first  design 
was  meant  to  sustain  figures  of  the  contemplative  and 
active  life  of  the  soul— Dante's  Leah  and  Rachel. 

I:  y/ 
I  This  great  scheme  was  never  carried  out.  The 
fragments  which  may  be  safely  assigned  to  it  are 
the  Moses  at  S.  Pietro  in  Vincoli  and  the  two  bound 
captives  of  the  Louvre  ;  the  Madonna  and  Child, 
Leah  and  Rachel,  and  two  seated  statues  also  at 
S.  Pietro  in  Vincoli,  belong  to  the  plan,  though 
these  have  undergone  considerable  alterations.  Some  ^ 
other  scattered  fragments  of  the  sculptor's  work 
may  possibly  be  connected  with  its  execution.  Four 
male  figures  roughly  hewn,  which  are  now  wrought 
into  the  rock-work  of  a  grotto  in  the  Boboli  Gar- 
dens, together  with  the  young  athlete  trampling 
on  a  prostrate  old  man  (called  the  Victory)  and  the 
Adonis  of  the  Museo  Nazionale  at  Florence,  have 
all  been  ascribed  to  the  sepulchre  of  Julius  in  one  ^ 
or  other  of  its  stages.  But  these  attributes  are 
doubtful,  and  will  be  criticised  in  their  proper  place 
and  time.^  Sufiice  it  now  to  say  that  Vasari  reports, 
beside  the  Moses,  Victory,  and  two  Captives  at  the 
Louvre,  eight  figures  for  the  tomb  blocked  out  by 
Michelangelo  at  Rome,  and  five  blocked  out  at 
Florence. 

^  Discrepancies  in  the  seale  and  dimensions  of  these  several  statues 
render  the  whole  question  very  puzzling. 


140  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 


Continuing  the  history  of  this  tragic  undertaking] 
^  we  come  to  the  year  1516.  On  the  8th  of  Jul 
in  that  year,  Michelangelo  signed  a  new  contract| 
wherehy  the  previous  deed  of  15 13  was  annulled. 
Both  of  the  executors  were  alive  and  parties  to  thi 
second  agreement.^  "  A  model  was  made,  the  widt! 
of  which  is  stated  at  twenty-one  feet,  after  th 
monument  had  heen  already  sculptured  of  a  widt 
of  almost  twenty- three  feet.  The  architectural  desig 
was  adhered  to  with  the  same  pedestals  and  niche 
and  the  same  crowning  cornice  of  the  first  story 
There  were  to  be  six  statues  in  front,  but  th(| 
conquered  provinces  were  now  dispensed  with 
There  was  also  to  be  one  niche  only  on  each  flank 
so  that  the  projection  of  the  monument  from  th 
wall  was  reduced  more  than  half,  and  there  wer 
to  be  only  twelve  statues  beneath  the  cornice  an 
one  relief,  instead  of  twenty-four  statues  and  thre 
reliefs.  On  the  summit  of  this  basement  a  shrin 
was  to  be  erected,  within  which  was  placed  the  effigj 
^^  of  the  Pontiff  on  his  sarcophagus,  with  two  heaven! 
guardians.  The  whole  of  the  statues  described  ir 
this  third  contract  amount  to  nineteen."  Heath 
Wilson  observes,  with  much  propriety,  that  thei 
most  singular  fact  about  these  successive  contracts  f 
is  the  departure  from  certain  fixed  proportions  bott 
of  the  architectural  parts  and  the  statues,  involving 
a  serious  loss  of  outlay  and  of  work.     Thus  the  two 

^  Lettere,  Contratto  xvi.  pp.  644-651. 

*  I  quote  part  of  Heatli  Wilson's  description,  pp.  222,  223. 


\p 


THIRD   CONTRACT   OF   1532.  141 

Japtives  of  the  Louvre  became  useless,  and,  as  we 
:now,  they  were  given  away  to  Euberto  Strozzi  in 
i  moment  of  generosity  by  the  sculptor/  The 
itting  figures  detailed  in  the  deed  of  15 16  are 
horter  than  the  Moses  by  one  foot.  The  standing 
igures,  now  at  S.  Pietro  in  Vincoli,  correspond  to 
jhe  specifications.  What  makes  the  matter  still 
nore  singular  is,  that  after  signing  the  contract 
ander  date  July  8,  15 16,  Michelangelo  in  November 
pf  the  same  year  ordered  blocks  of  marble  from 
Carrara  with  measurements  corresponding  to  the 
specifications  of  the  deed  of  1513.^ 
-"-The  miserable  tragedy  of  the  sepulchre  dragged 
Dn  for  another  sixteen  years.  During  this  period 
the  executors  of  Julius  passed  away,  and  the 
Duke  Francesco  Maria  della  Eovere  replaced  them. 
Be  complained  that  Michelangelo  neglected  the 
tomb,  which  was  true,  although  the  fault  lay  not 
with  the  sculptor,  but  with  the  Popes,  his  task- 
masters. Legal  proceedings  were  instituted  to  re- 
cover a  large  sum  of  money,  which,  it  was  alleged, 
liad  been  disbursed  without  due  work  delivered  by 
the  master.  Michelangelo  had  recourse  to  Clement 
VII.,  who,  being  anxious  to  monopolise  his  labour, 
undertook  to  arrange  matters  with  the  Duke.  On 
the  29th  of  April    1532   a  third  and   solemn   con- 

1  In  a  petition  addressed  to  Paul  III.  MicJielangelo  gives  the  reason 
why  these  statues  had  to  be  abandoned,  owing  to  a  change  of  scale  in 
the  tomb.    Lettere,  No.  cdxxxiii. 

*  Contract  with  Francesco  Pelliccia,  November  i,  1516  ;  Vasari,  xil 
p.  352. 


; 


142  LIFE    OF   MICHELANGELO. 


tract  was  signed  at  Rome  in  presence  of  the  Pope, 
witnessed  by  a  number  of  illustrious  personages^ 
This  third  contract  involved  a  fouith  design  foi 
the  tomb,  which  Michelangelo  undertook  to  furnish 
and  at  the  same  time  to  execute  six  statues  with  his 
own  hand.  On  this  occasion  the  notion  of  erect 
ing  it  in  S.  Peter's  was  finally  abandoned.  The 
choice  lay  between  two  other  Roman  churches 
that  of  S.  Maria  del  Popolo,  where  monuments  tc 
several  members  of  the  Delia  Rovere  family  existed 
and  that  of  S.  Pietro  in  Vincoli,  from  which  Julim 
II.  had  taken  his  cardinal's  title.  Michelangelc 
decided  for  the  latter,  on  account  of  its  bettei 
lighting.  The  six  statues  promised  by  Michelangelc 
are  stated  in  the  contract  to  be  "begun  and  no 
completed,  extant  at  the  present  date  in  Rome  o 
in  Florence."  Which  of  the  several  statues  blockec 
out  for  the  monument  were  to  be  chosen  is  no  [ 
stated;  and  as  there  are  no  specifications  in  th< 
document,  we  cannot  identify  them  with  exactness 
At  any  rate,  the  Moses  must  have  been  one ;  am 
it  is  possible  that  the  Leah  and  Rachel,  Madonna 
and  two  seated  statues,  now  at  S.  Pietro,  were  th 
other  five. 

It  might  have  been  thought  that  at  last  th^ 
tragedy  had  dragged  on  to  its  conclusion.  Bu 
no ;  there  was  a  fifth  act,  a  fourth  contract,  a  fiftl 
design.  Paul  III.  succeeded  to  Clement  VII.,  and 
having  seen  the  Moses  in  Michelangelo's  workshop 

^  Lettere,  Contralto  Iv.  pp.  702-706. 


FOURTH   CONTRACT   OF    1542.  143 

jclared  that  this  one  statue  was  enough  for  the 

iceased  Pope's  tomb.     The  Duke  Francesco  Maria 

5lla  Eovere  died  in  1538,  and  was  succeeded  by  his 

n,  Guidobaldo  II.     The  new  Duke's  wife  was  a 

:anddaughter  of  Paul  III.,  and  this  may  have  made 

m  amenable  to  the  Pope's  influence.    At  all  events, 

pon  the  20th  of  August  1542  a  final  contract  was 

gned,   stating   that   Michelangelo   had    been   pre- 

3nted  "by  just  and  legitimate   impediments  from 

iirrying  out "  his  engagement  under  date  April  29, 

1532,   releasing  him  from   the    terms  of  the  third 

eed,  and  establishing  new  conditions.^     The  Moses, 

nished   by  the   hand  of  Michelangelo,   takes   the 

§ntral  place  in  this  new  monument.     Five   other 

tatues  are  specified  :  "  to  wit,  a  Madonna  with  the 

hild  in  her  arms,  which  is  already  finished ;  a  Sibyl, 

Prophet,  an  Active  Life  and  a  Contemplative  Life, 

locked    out    and    nearly    completed    by    the    said 

lichelangelo."     These  four  were  given  to  Haffaello 

a   Montelupo    to   finish.     The   reclining   portrait- 

tatue   of  Julius,   which  was    carved  by  Maso    del 

>osco,  is  not  even  mentioned  in  this  contract.     But 

deed  between  the  Duke's  representative  and  the 

raftsmen  Montelupo  and  Urbino  exists,  in  which 

be  latter  undertakes  to  see  that  Michelangelo  shall 

Btouch  the  Pope's  face.^ 

1  Lettere,   Contratto   Ixiii.    p.    715.     See    also   the    contracts    with 
affaello  da  Montelupo,  Giovanni  de'  Marchesi,  and  Francesco  I'Urbino, 
OS.  lix.,  Ix.,  Ixi.,  Ixiv.,  all  of  which  relate  to  the  tomb. 
^  Lettere,  Contratto  Ixiv.  p.  718. 


144  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

Thus   ended  the    tragedy  of  the    tomb   of  Poj 

Julius  II.     It  is  supposed  to  have  been  finally  cor 

w^pleted  in  1545,  and  was  set  up  where  it  still  remaii 

uninjured  at  S.  Pietro  in  Vincoli.^ 


IV. 

I  judged  it  needful  to  anticipate  the   course 
events  by  giving  this  brief  history  of  a  work  begif 
in  1505,  and  carried   on  with  so  many  hindrancf 

^^^XiA  alterations  through  forty  years  of  Michelangelcl 
hfe.     We  shall  often  Have  to  return  to  it,  since  tif 
matter  cannot  be  lightly  dismissed.      The  tomb 
Julius    empoisoned  Michelangelo's    manhood,  hai 

v^^ered  his  energy,  and  brought  but  small  if  any  pro  \ 
to  his  purse.  In  one  way  or  another  it  is  alwai^ 
cropping  up,  and  may  be  said  to  vex  his  biographe  \ 
and  the  students  of  his  life  as  much  as  it  annoy 
himself.  We  may  now  return  to  those  early  days  ^\ 
Home,  when  the  project  had  still  a  fascination  bo 
for  the  sculptor  and  his  patron. 

The   old  Basilica  of  S.  Peter  on  the  Vatican 
said  to  have  been  built  during  the  reign  of  Consta 
tine,  and  to  have  been  consecrated  in  324  a.d. 


1  See  Letters,  No.  cdxliii.,  to  the  bankers  Salvestro  da  Montai; 
and  Co.,  on  January  25,  1545,  ordering  tliem  to  make  the  last  payme 
to  RafFaello  da  Montelupo.  It  is  indorsed  by  the  Duke  of  Urbin 
envoy,  Hieronimo  Tiranno.  Another  letter  of  the  same  year  to  t 
same  bankers.  No.  cdlii.,  shows  that  Montelupo's  work  was  finished. 


I 


THE   OLD   BASILICA  OF  S.    PETER'S.  145 

as  one  of  the  largest  of  those  Roman  buildings, 
leasuring  435  feet  in  length  from  the  great  door 
t  the  end  of  the  tribune.  A  spacious  open  square 
(  atrium,  surrounded  by  a  cloister-portico,  gave 
jjcess  to  the  church.  This,  in  the  Middle  Ages, 
jiined  the  name  of  the  Paradiso.  A  kind  of  taber- 
icle,  in  the  centre  of  the  square,  protected  the  great 
:onze  fir-cone,  which  was  formerly  supposed  to  have 
owned  the  summit  of  Hadrian's  Mausoleum,  the 
jastle  of  S.  Angelo.^  Dante,  who  saw  it  in  the 
purtyard  of  S.  Peter's,  used  it  as  a  standard  for 
lis  giant  Nimrod.     He  says — 

La  faccia  sua  mi  parea  lunga  e  grossa, 
Come  la  pina  di  San  Pietro  a  Roma. 

— {Inf.  xxxi.  58.) 

This  mother-church  of  Western  Christendom  was 
domed  inside  and  out  with  mosaics  in  the  style 
f  those  which  may  still  be  seen  at  Ravenna, 
^bove  the  lofty  row  of  columns  which  flanked  the 
entral  aisle  ran  processions  of  saints  and  sacred 
istories.  They  led  the  eye  onward  to  what  was 
illed  the  Arch  of  Triumph,  separating  this  portion 
f  the  building  from  the  transept  and  the  tribune, 
he  concave  roof  of  the  tribune  itself  was  decorated 
ith  a  colossal  Christ,  enthroned  between  S.  Peter 
ad  S.  Paul,  surveying  the  vast  spaces  of  his  house  : 
le  lord  and  master,  before  whom  pilgrims  from  all 
arts  of  Europe  came  to  pay  tribute  and  to  perform 
3ts   of  homage.     The    columns    were    of  precious 

*  It  was  really  in  antique,  as  in  medieval,  times  a  fountain. 
VOL.  I.  K 


146  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

marbles,  stripped  from  Pagan  palaces  and  tempi 
and  the  roof  was  tiled  with  plates  of  gilded  bron 
torn  in  the  age  of  Heraclius  from  the  shrine 
Venus  and  of  Roma  on  the  Sacred  Way. 

During  the  eleven  centuries  which  elapsed  betwi 
its  consecration  and  the  decree  for  its  destructi 
S.  Peter's  had  been  gradually  enriched  with  a  ser! 
of  monuments,  inscriptions,  statues,  frescoes,  u 
which  were  written  the  annals  of  successive  ages 
v^  the  Church.  Giotto  worked  there  under  Bened 
II.  in  1340.  Pope  after  Pope  was  buried  th 
In  the  early  period  of  Renaissance  sculpture.  Mi 
da  Fiesole,  Pollaiuolo,  and  Filarete  added  wo]j 
in  bronze  and  marble,  which  blent  the  grace 
Florentine  religious  tradition  with  quaint  neo-pa 
mythologies.  These  treasures,  priceless  for  1 
historian,  the  antiquary,  and  the  artist,  were  n 
going  to  be  ruthlessly  swept  away  at  a  pontiil 
bidding,  in  order  to  make  room  for  his  haug 
and  self-laudatory  monument.  Whatever  may  hdfe 
been  the  artistic  merits  of  Michelangelo's  origi]|j 
conception  for  the  tomb,  the  spirit  was  in  no  seii 
Christian.  Those  rows  of  captive  Arts  and  Sciencj 
those  Victories  exulting  over  prostrate  cities,  th( 
allegorical  colossi  symbolising  the  mundane  virti 
of  a  mighty  ruler's  character,  crowned  by  the  portr 
of  the  Pope,  over  whom  Heaven  rejoiced  wh 
Cybele  deplored  his  loss — all  this  pomp  of  pov 
and  parade  of  ingenuity  harmonised  but  little  w 
the   humility    of   a   contrite    soul    returning   to 


DECREE   TO   REBUILD   THE   CHURCH.         147 

aker  and  its  Judge.     The  new  temple,  destined 

supersede  the  old  basilica,  embodied  an  aspect 

Latin  Christianity  which  had  very  little  indeed 

common  with  the  piety  of  the  primitive  Church. 

Peter's,  as  we  see  it  now,  represents  the  majesty 

Papal  Rome,  the  spirit  of  a  secular  monarchy  in 

e  hands  of  priests ;  it  is  the  visible  symbol  of  that 

hism  between  the  Teutonic  and  the  Latin  portions 

I'  the  Western  Church  which  broke  out  soon  after 
3  foundation,  and  became  irreconcilable  before  the 
(OSS  was  placed  upon  its  cupola.  It  seemed  as 
lough  in  sweeping  away  the  venerable  traditions 
'  eleven  hundred  years,  and  replacing  Kome's  time- 
moured  Mother- Church  with  an  edifice  bearing  the 
'and-new  stamp  of  hybrid  neo-pagan  architecture, 
le  Popes  had  wished  to  signalise  that  rupture  with 
le  past  and  that  atrophy  of  real  religious  life 
hich  marked  the  counter-reformation. 

Julius  11.  has  been  severely  blamed  for  planning 
le  entire  reconstruction  of  his  cathedral.  It  must, 
Dwever,  be  urged  in  his  defence  that  the  structure 
id  already,  in  1447,  been  pronounced  insecure, 
icholas  V.  ordered  his  architects,  Bernardo  Eossel- 
ai  and  Leo  Battista  Alberti,  to  prepare  plans  for 
s  restoration.  It  is,  of  course,  impossible  for  us 
I  say  for  certain  whether  the  ancient  fabric  could 
ive  been  preserved,  or  whether  its  dilapidations 
id  gone  so  far  as  to  involve  destruction.     Bearing 

mind  the  recklessness   of  the   Renaissance  and 
e  passion  which  the  Popes  had  for  engaging  in 


148  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

colossal  undertakings,  one  is  inclined  to  susp 
that  the  unsound  state  of  the  building  was  m 
a  pretext  for  beginning  a  work  which  flattered  l| 
architectural  tastes  of  Nicholas,  but  was  not  ab 
lutely  necessary.  However  this  may  have  been,  fo 
dations  for  a  new  tribune  were  laid  outside  the  i 
apse,  and  the  wall  rose  some  feet  above  the  gro 
before  the  Pope's  death.  Paul  II.  carried  on  l| 
building ;  but  during  the  pontificates  of  Six 
Innocent,  and  Alexander  it  seems  to  have  b(| 
neglected.  Meanwhile  nothing  had  been  done 
injure  the  original  basilica;  and  when  Julius  L] 
nounced  his  intention  of  levelling  it  to  the  groujl, 
his  cardinals  and  bishops  entreated  him  to  refr| 
from  an  act  so  sacrilegious.  The  Pope  was  no 
man  to  take  advice  or  make  concessions.  Acco 
ingly,  turning  a  deaf  ear  to  these  entreaties, 
had  plans  prepared  by  Giuliano  da  San  Gallo  { 
Bramante.  Those  eventually  chosen  were  furnis] 
by  Bramante ;  and  San  Gallo,  who  had  hithe 
enjoyed  the  fullest  confidence  of  Julius,  is  said 
have  left  Rome  in  disgust.  For  reasons  which  i 
afterwards  appear,  he  could  not  have  done  so  bei 
the  summer  months  of  1 506.^ 

It  is  not  yet  the  proper  time  to  discuss  the  bu 
ing  of  S.  Peter's.  Still,  with  regard  to  Braman 
plan,  this  much  may  here  be  said.  It  was  desigi 
in  the  form  of  a  Greek   cross,   surmounted  witljja 

^  From  a  letter  of  Pietro  Kosselli,  quoted  by  Gotti,  i.  46,  we  ga !  !i 
that  San  Gallo  may  have  left  Rome  as  early  as  May  10. 


BRAM ANTE'S   DESIGN.  149 

circular  dome  and  flanked  by  two  towers, 
amante  used  to  boast  that  he  meant  to  raise  the 
mtheon  in  the  air ;  and  the  plan,  as  preserved 
X  us  by  Serlio,  shows  that  the  cupola  would  have 
len  constructed  after  that  type.  Competent  judges, 
Wever,  declare  that  insuperable  difficulties  must 
Lve  arisen  in  carrying  out  this  design,  while  the 
ers  constructed  by  Bramante  were  found  in 
feet  to  be  wholly  insufficient  for  their  purpose. 
')r  the  aesthetic  beauty  and  the  commodiousness 
'  his  building  we  have  the  strongest  evidence  in 
letter  written  by  Michelangelo,  who  was  by  no 
eans  a  partial  witness.^  *'It  cannot  be  denied,*' 
}  says,  **that  Bramante's  talent  as  an  architect 
as  equal  to  that  of  any  one  from  the  times  of  the 
icients  until  now.  He  laid  the  first  plan  of  S. 
eter's,  not  confused,  but  clear  and  simple,  full  of 
^ht  and  detached  from  surrounding  buildings, 
)  that  it  interfered  with  no  part  of  the  palace. 
;  was  considered  a  very  fine  design,  and  indeed 
ly  one  can  see  with  his  own  eyes  now  that  it  is 
).  All  the  architects  who  departed  from  Bra- 
lante's  scheme,  as  did  Antonio  da  San  Gallo,  have 
eparted  from  the  truth."  Though  Michelangelo 
ave  this  unstinted  praise  to  Bramante's  genius  as 
builder,  he  blamed  him  severely  both  for  his  want 
f  honesty  as  a  man,  and  also  for  his  vandalism  in 
ealing  with  the  venerable  church  he  had  to  replace. 
Bramante,"  says  Condivi,  "  was  addicted,  as  every- 

^  Lettere,  No.  cdlxxiv. 


I50  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO.  | 

I 
body  knows,  to  every  kind  of  pleasure.     He  spe  t 
enormously,  and,  though  the  pension  granted  hi 
by  the  Pope  was  large,  he  found  it  insufficient  j|: 
his  needs.     Accordingly  he  made  profit  out  of  t\i 
works  committed  to  his  charge,  erecting  the  wajs 
of  poor  material,   and  without  regard  for  the  si|- 
stantial  and  enduring  qualities  which  fabrics  on  j) 
V,.^--tege  a  scale   demanded.     This  is  apparent  in  t 
buildings  at  S.  Peter's,  the  Corridore  of  the  Bel^ 
dere,  the  Convent  of  San  Pietro  ad  Vincula,  a 
other    of    his    edifices,    which    have    had    to 
strengthened  and  propped  up  with  buttresses  a 
similar  supports  in  order  to  prevent  them  tumbli 
down."     Bramante,  during  his   residence  in  Lo 
hardy,  developed  a  method  of  erecting  piers  w 
rubble   enclosed  by  hewn   stone   or  plaster-cove] 
brickwork.     This  enabled  an  unconscientious  buiW 
to  furnish  bulky  architectural   masses,   which 
sented    a    specious    aspect    of   solidity  and    loolji 
more    costly   than   they   really   were.      It   had   'e 
additional  merit  of  being    easy  and  rapid  in  e 
cution.      Bramante   was   thus    able   to   gratify 
whims  and  caprices   of  his   impatient  patron,  Vi 
desired  to  see  the  works  of  art  hfe  ordered  rise  Ije 
the  fabric  of  Aladdin's  lamp   before  his  very  ejjs. 
Michelangelo  is  said  to  have  exposed  the  archite 
trickeries  to  the  Pope  ;  what  is  more,  he  complaii 
with  just  and  bitter  indignation  of  the  wanton  ru 
lessness  with  which  Bramante  set  about  his  w 
of  destruction.     I  will   again  quote   Condivi   h< 


e, 


FOUNDATIONS   LAID   IN    1506.  151 

r  the  passage  seems  to  have  been  inspired  by 
te  great  sculptor's  verbal  reminiscences:  *'The 
It  i3rst  was,  that  while  he  was  pulling  down  the 
fid  S.  Peter's,  he  dashed  those  marvellous  antique 
columns  to  the  ground,  without  paying  the  least 
ntention,  or  caring  at  all  when  they  were  broken 
111 ;  to  fragments,  although  he  might  have  lowered 
lem  gently  and  preserved  their  shafts  intact, 
f  ichelangelo  pointed  out  that  it  was  an  easy  thing 
Hiough  to  erect  piers  by  placing  brick  on  brick, 
I  it  that  to  fashion  a  column  like  one  of  these 
iiLxed  all  the  resources  of  art." 
ij  On  the  i8th  of  April  1506,  Julius  performed  the 
i  i^remony  of  laying  the  foundation-stone  of  the  new 
ij.  Peter's/  The  place  chosen  was  the  great  sustain- 
eifig  pier  of  the  dome,  near  which  the  altar  of  S. 
Iferonica  now  stands.  A  deep  pit  had  been  ex- 
Ijavated,  into  which  the  aged  Pope  descended  fear- 
Ijissly,  only  shouting  to  the  crowd  above  that  they 
tjiiould  stand  back  and  not  endanger  the  falling  in 
)i»f  the  earth  above  him.  Coins  and  medals  were 
t||.uly  deposited  in  a  vase,  over  which  a  ponderous 
ijilock  of  marble  was  lowered,  while  Julius,  bare- 
I  [leaded,  sprinkled  the  stone  with  holy  water  and 
iljave  the  pontifical  benediction.  On  the  same  day 
ijie  wrote  a  letter  to  Henry  VII.  of  England,  inform- 
iing  the  King  that  "  by  the  guidance  of  our  Lord  and 
ij5aviour  Jesus  Christ  he  had  undertaken  to  restore 
I  [he  old  basilica,  which  was  perishing  through  age." 

^  See  Crowe  and  Cavalcaselle,  Life  of  Raphael,  vol.  i.  p.  381. 


152  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 


V. 

The  terms  of  cordial  intimacy  which  subsiste 
^-^etween  Julius  and  Michelangelo  at  the  close 
1505  were  destined  to  be  disturbed.  The  Pop 
intermitted  his  visits  to  the  sculptor's  worksho] 
and  began  to  take  but  little  interest  in  the  mom 
ment.  Condivi  directly  ascribes  this  coldness  i 
the  intrigues  of  Bramante,  who  whispered  into  th 
Pontiffs  ear  that  it  was  ill-omened  for  a  man  1 
construct  his  own  tomb  in  his  lifetime.  It  is  m 
at  all  improbable  that  he  said  something  of  tl: 
sort,  and  Bramante  was  certainly  no  good  friend  1 
Michelangelo.  A  manoeuvring  and  managing  ind 
\/vidual,  entirely  unscrupulous  in  his  choice  of  mean 
condescending  to  flattery  and  lies,  he  strove  to  stau 
as  patron  between  the  Pope  and  subordinate  craft 
men.  Michelangelo  had  come  to  Kome  under  Sa 
Gallo's  influence,  and  Bramante  had  just  succeede 
in  winning  the  commission  to  rebuild  S.  Peter 
over  his  rival's  head.  It  was  important  for  him  1 
break  up  San  Gallo's  party,  among  whom  the  since] 
and  uncompromising  Michelangelo  threatened  to  I 
very  formidable.  The  jealousy  which  he  felt  for  tl 
man  was  envenomed  by  a  fear  lest  he  should  spea 
the  truth  about  his  own  dishonesty.  To  discred 
Michelangelo  with  the  Pope,  and,  if  possible,  to  dri^ 
him  out  of  Home,  was  therefore  Bramante' s  interes 


BRAMANTE  AND  BUONARROTI.      153 

ore  particularly  as  his  own  nephew,  Raffaello  da 
rbino,  had  now  made  up  his  mind  to  join  him 
lere.  We  shall  see  that  he  succeeded  in  expelling 
)th  San  Gallo  and  Buonarroti  during  the  course  of 
506,  and  that  in  their  absence  he  reigned,  together 
ith  Raffaello,  almost  alone  in  the  art-circles  of  the 
ternal  City. 

I  see  no  reason,  therefore,  to  discredit  the  story 
)ld  by  Condivi  and   Vasari   regarding  the  Pope's 
rowing  want  of  interest  in  his  tomb.    Michelangelo 
imself,  writing  from  Rome  in  1542,  thirty-six  years 
fter  these   events,  says   that  "all   the   dissensions 
etween  Pope  Julius  and  me  arose  from  the  envy 
f  Bramante  and  E-affaello  da  Urbino,  and  this  was 
e  cause  of  my  not  finishing  the  tomb  in  his  life- 
line.   They  wanted  to  ruin  me.    Raffaello  indeed  had 
^ood  reason ;  for  all  he  had  of  art  he  owed  to  me."  ^ 
i53ut,  while  we  are  justified  in  attributing  much  to 
i3ramante's  intrigues,  it  must  be  remembered  that 
jhe  Pope  at  this  time  was  absorbed  in  his  plans  for 
Conquering  Bologna.      Overwhelmed  with  business 
tind  anxious  about  money,  he  could  not  have  had 
nuch  leisure  to  converse  with  sculptors. 

Michelangelo  was  still  in  Rome  at  the  end  of 
January.  On  the  31st  of  that  month  he  wrote  to 
jtiis  father,  complaining  that  the  marbles  did  not 
[arrive  quickly  enough,  and  that  he  had  to  keep 
Julius  in  good  humour  with  promises.^  At  the  same 
time  he  begged  Lodovico  to  pack  up  all  his  drawings, 

^  Lettere,  No.  cdxxxv.  2  Lettere,  No.  iii. 


154  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

and  to  send  them,  well  secured  against  bad  weathei 
by  the  hand  of  a  carrier.  It  is  obvious  that  he  hac 
no  thoughts  of  leaving  Rome,  and  that  the  Popi 
was  still  eager  about  the  monument.  Early  in  th 
spring  he  assisted  at  the  discovery  of  the  Laocoon 
Francesco,  the  son  of  Giuliano  da  San  Gallc 
describes  how  Michelangelo  was  almost  always  a 
his  father's  house ;  and  coming  there  one  day,  h 
went,  at  the  architect's  invitation,  down  to  the  ruin 
of  the  Palace  of  Titus.^  "We  set  oflf,  all  thre 
together;  I  on  my  fathers  shoulders.  When  w 
descended  into  the  place  where  the  statue  lay,  m 
father  exclaimed  at  once,  *  That  is  the  Laocoon,  o 
which  Pliny  speaks.'  The  opening  was  enlarged,  s 
that  it  could  be  taken  out ;  and  after  we  had  suffi 
ciently  admired  it,  we  went  home  to  breakfast. 
Julius  bought  the  marble  for  500  crowns,  and  ha 
it  placed  in  the  Belvedere  of  the  Vatican.  Scholar ; 
praised  it  in  Latin  lines  of  greater  or  lesser  meril 
Sadoleto  writing  even  a  fine  poem ;  ^  and  Michel 
angelo  is  said,  but  without  trustworthy  authority 
to  have  assisted  in  its  restoration. 

This  is  the  last  glimpse  we  have  of  Michelangel 
before  his  flight  from  Rome.  Under  what  circumi 
stances  he  suddenly  departed  may  be  related  in  thj 
words  of  a  letter  addressed  by  him  to  Giuliano  d 

^  Grimm,  vol.  i.  p.  276.  The  place  where  this  antique  marble  w; 
discovered  was  really  the  Thermae  of  Titus. 

^  Printed  in  Poemata  Seleda  Italorunif  Oxonii,  1 808  ;  also  in  a  no 
to  Lessing's  Laokoon. 


SUDDEN   FLIGHT   FROM   ROME.  155 

an  Gallo  in  E-ome  upon  the  2nd  of  May  1506,  after 
is  return  to  Florence.^ 

"  GiULiANO, — Your  letter  informs  me  that  the  Pope 
ras  angry  at  my  departure,  as  also  that  his  Holiness  is 
aclined  to  proceed  with  the  works  agreed  upon  be- 
v^een  us,  and  that  I  may  return  and  not  be  anxious 
bout  anything. 

*'  About  my  leaving  K-ome,  it  is  a  fact  that  on  Holy 
594:urday  I  heard  the  Pope,  in  conversation  with  a 
iweller  at  table  and  with  the  Master  of  Ceremo- 
liies,  say  that  he  did  not  mean  to  spend  a  farthing 
i|nore  on  stones,  small  or  great.  This  caused  me 
0  little  astonishment.  However,  before  I  left  his 
Tesence,  I  asked  for  part  of  the  money  needed  to 
arry  on  the  work.  His  Holiness  told  me  to  return 
m  Monday,  I  did  so,  and  on  Tuesday,  and  on 
Wednesday,  and  on  Thursday,  as  the  Pope  saw. 
[At  last,  on  Friday  morning,  I  was  sent  away,  or 
plainly  turned  out  of  doors.  The  man  who  did 
this  said  he  knew  me,  but  that  such  were  his 
orders.  I,  who  had  heard  the  Pope's  words  on 
Saturday,  and  now  perceived  their  result  in  deeds, 
was  utterly  cast  down.  This  was  not,  however, 
quite  the  only  reason  of  my  departure ;  there  was 
something  else,  which  I  do  not  wish  to  com- 
municate ;  enough  that  it  made  me  think  that,  if 
I  stayed  in  Eome,  that  city  would  be  my  tomb 
before  it  was  the  Pope's.  And  this  was  the  cause 
of  my  sudden  departure. 

1  Lettere,  No.  cccxliii. 


156  LIFE  OF   MICHELANGELO. 

*'  Now  you  write  to  me  at  the  Pope's  instance 
So  I  beg  you  to  read  him  this  letter,  and  infor 
his  Holiness  that  I  am  even  more  than  ever  dis 
posed  to  carry  out  the  work." 

Further  details  may  be  added  from   subsequen 
letters  of  Michelangelo.     Writing  in  January  152 
to  his  friend  Giovanni  Francesco  Fattucci,  he  savs  : 
"  When  I  had  finished  paying  for  the  transport  0 
these    marbles,    and   all   the    money   was    spent,   II 
furnished  the  house  I  had  upon  the  Piazza  di  S.| 
Pietro  with  beds  and  utensils  at  my  own  expense 
trusting  to  the  commission  of  the  tomb,  and  sen 
for   workmen  from   Florence,   who    are    still   alive 
and  paid  them  in  advance   out  of  my  own  purse 
Meanwhile  Pope  Julius  changed  his  mind  about  the 
tomb,  and  would  not  have  it  made.     Not  knowing 
this,  I  applied  to  him  for  money,  and  was  expelled^ 
from  the  chamber.     Enraged  at   such  an  insult,  I 
left  Rome  on  the  moment.     The  things  with  which 
my   house   was    stocked    went   to   the   dogs.     The 
marbles  I  had  brought  to  Rome  lay  till  the  date 
of  Leo's  creation  on  the  Piazza,  and  both  lots  werej 
injured  and  pillaged."  ^ 

Again,   a   letter  of   October    1542,   addressed   to 
some   prelate,    contains    further    particulars.^      We 

^  Lettere,  No.  ccclxxxiii. 

2  In  the  abbozzo  (ccclxxxiv)  :  "  Finding  myself  engaged  in  great 
expenses,  and  seeing  his  Holiness  indisposed  to  pay,  I  complained  to 
him  ;  this  annoyed  him  so  much  that  he  had  me  turned  out  of  the 
antechamber.    Upon  which  I  became  angry  and  left  home  suddenly." 

2  Lettere,  No.  cdxxxv. 


DETAILS    REGARDING   THE   FLIGHT.        157 

earn  he  was  so    short  of  money  that  he  had   to 
lorrow  about  200  ducats  from  his  friend  Baldassare 
Jalducci  at  the  bank  of  Jacopo  Gallo.     The  episode 
i  the  Vatican    and  the   flight   to  Poggibonsi  are 
elated  thus  : — 
**  To  continue  my  history  of  the  tomb  of  Julius : 
say  that  when  he  changed  his  mind  about  build- 
ng  it  in  his  lifetime,   some   ship-loads  of  marble 
lame  to  the   Eipa,   which   I  had    ordered  a  short 
yhile  before  from  Carrara;   and  as  I  could  not  get 
noney  from  the  Pope  to  pay  the  freightage,  I  had 
borrow    150    or    200    ducats    from    Baldassare 
3alducci,  that  is,  from  the  bank  of  Jacopo  Gallo. 
it  the   same  time  workmen   came  from  Florence, 
jome  of  whom  are  still  alive  ;  and  I  furnished  the 
lOuse  which  Julius    gave    me   behind  S.   Caterina 
With   beds   and    other  furniture  for   the   men,   and 
what  was  wanted  for  the  work  of  the  tomb.     All 
jthis    being    done   without    money,    I    was    greatly 
embarrassed.     Accordingly,  I  urged  the  Pope  with 
all    my   power   to   go    forward    with   the   business, 
and  he  had  me  turned  away  by  a  groom  one  morn- 
ing when  I   came  to   speak  upon  the  matter.      A 
Lucchese  bishop,  seeing  this,   said  to  the  groom  : 
*  Do  you  not  know  who  that  man  is  ? '     The  groom 
replied  to    me :    *  Excuse    me,   gentleman ;    I  have 
orders   to  do  this.'     1    went   home,   and    wrote    as 
follows    to    the    Pope :    '  Most    blessed   Father,    I 
have  been  turned  out  of  the  palace  to-day  by  your 
orders  ;  wherefore  I  give  you  notice  that  from  this 


158  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

time  forward,  if  you  want  me,  you  must  look  fo 
me  elsewhere  than  at  Rome/  I  sent  this  lette 
to  Messer  Agostino,  the  steward,  to  give  it  to  th 
Pope.  Then  I  sent  for  Cosimo,  a  carpenter,  wh 
lived  with  me  and  looked  after  household  matters 
and  a  stone-heaver,  who  is  still  alive,  and  said  t< 
them :  *  Go  for  a  Jew,  and  sell  everything  in  th 
house,  and  come  to  Florence.'  I  went,  took  th 
post,  and  travelled  towards  Florence.  The  Pope 
when  he  had  read  my  letter,  sent  five  horsemei 
after  me,  who  reached  me  at  Poggibonsi  about  thre 
hours  after  nightfall,  and  gave  me  a  letter  froD 
the  Pope  to  this  effect :  '  When  you  have  seei 
these  present,  come  back  at  once  to  Rome,  unde 

V'penalty  of  our  displeasure/  The  horsemen  wer( 
anxious  I  should  answer,  in  order  to  prove  tha 
they  had  overtaken  me.  I  replied  then  to  th 
Pope,  that  if  he  would   perform  the  conditions  h 

^^was  under  with  regard  to  me,  I  would  return ;  bu 
otherwise  he  must  not  expect  to  have  me  again 
Later  on,  while  I  was  at  Florence,  Julius  sen 
three  briefs  to  the  Signory.  At  last  the  latter  sen 
for  me  and  said :  *  We  do  not  want  to  go  to  wa 
with  Pope  Julius  because  of  you.  You  must  re 
turn ;  and  if  you  do  so,  we  will  write  you  letters  0 
such  authority  that,  should  he  do  you  harm,  he  wil 
be  doing  it  to  this  Signory.'  Accordingly  1  tool 
the  letters,  and  went  back  to  the  Pope,  and  wha 
followed  would  be  long  to  tell. " 
These  passages  from  Michelangelo's  correspondence 


Itl 


MICHELANGELO'S   NERVOUSNESS.  159 

onfirm  Condivi's  narrative  of  the  flight  from  Eome, 
bowing  that  he  had  gathered  his  information  from 
lie  sculptor's  lips.  Condivi  differs  only  in  making 
lichelangelo  send  a  verbal  message,  and  not  a  written 

tter,  to  the  Pope.^  "Enraged  by  this  repulse,  he  ex- 
laimed  to  the  groom  :  '  Tell  the  Pope  that  if  hence- 
orth  he  wants  me,  he  must  look  for  me  elsewhere.' " 

It  is  worth  observing  that  only  the  first  of  these 
etters,  written  shortly  after  the  event,  and  in- 
ended  for  the  Pope's  ear,  contains  a  hint  of 
/lichelangelo' s  dread  of  personal  violence  if  he 
emained  in  Rome.  His  words  seem  to  point  at 
)oison  or  the  dagger.  Cellini's  autobiography  yields 
ufficient  proof  that  such  fears  were  not  unjustified 
)y  practical  experience ;  and  Bramante,  though  he 
i)referred  to  work  by  treachery  of  tongue,  may  have 
commanded  the  services  of  assassins,  uomini  arditi 
'facinorosi,  as  they  were  somewhat  euphemistically 
i^alled.  At  any  rate,  it  is  clear  that  Michelangelo's 
precipitate  departure  and  vehement  refusal  to  return 
jtvere  occasioned  by  more  pungent  motives  than  the 
iPope's  frigidity.  This  has  to  be  noticed,  because 
we  learn  from  several  incidents  of  the  same  kind 
n  the  master's  life  that  he  was  constitutionally 
imbject  to  sudden  fancies  and  fears  of  imminent 
iianger  to  his  person  from  an  enemy.  He  had 
already  quitted  Bologna  in  haste  (p.  48  above)  from 
idread  of  assassination  or  maltreatment  at  the  hands 
of  native  sculptors. 

^  Condivi,  p.  29. 


i6o  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 


VI. 

The  negotiations  which  passed  between  the  Pop 
and  the  Signory  of  Florence  about  what  may  b 
called  the  extradition  of  Michelangelo  form 
curious  episode  in  his  biography,  throwing  int 
powerful  relief  the  importance  he  had  alread 
acquired  among  the  princes  of  Italy.  I  propos 
to  leave  these  for  the  commencement  of  my  nex 
chapter,  and  to  conclude  the  present  with  an  at 
count  of  his  occupations  during  the  summer  month 
at  Florence. 

Signor  Gotti  says  that  he  passed  three  month 
away  from  Julius  in  his  native  city.^  Considerin 
that  he  arrived  before  the  end  of  April,  and  reache 
Bologna  at  the  end  of  November  1 506,  we  have  th 
right  to  estimate  this  residence  at  about  seve 
months.^  A  letter  written  to  him  from  Rome  0 
the  4th  of  August  shows  that  he  had  not  then  le 
Florence  upon  any  intermediate  journey  of  imporl 
ance.^     Therefore  there  is  every  reason  to  suppos 

^  GoLti,  i.  47.     He  follows  Vasari. 

2  In  a  draft  for  his  famous  letter  to  Fattucci  (No.  ccclxxxiv.),  Miche 
angelo  himself  declares  that  he  "  remained  about  seven  or  eight  montl 
in  hiding,  as  it  were,  because  of  his  fear  of  the  Pope." 

3  Gotti,  ii.  51.     Curiously  enough,  he  seems  to  have  gone  a  secoi 
time  to  Carrara,  about  May  20,  to  purchase  marbles  for  the  tomb  f^ 
Julius.     See  Vasari,  xii.  p.  347.     I  am  not  sure  that  he  may  not  haj 
gone  there  at  Soderini's  orders  to  order  the  famous  block  of  marb 
for  the  Cacus. 


I 


FATE   OF   LIONARDO'S   FRESCO.  i6i 

||it  he  enjoyed  a  period  of  half  a  year  of  leisure, 

ich  he  devoted  to  finishing  his  Cartoon  for  the 
Ettle  of  Pisa. 

It  had  been  commenced,  as  we  have  seen,  in  a 
i^rkshop  at  the  Spedale  dei  Tintori.  When  he 
^  nt  to  Bologna  in  the  autumn,  it  was  left,  exposed 
p3sumably  to  public  view,  in  the  Sala  del  Papa  at 
?  Maria  Novella.^  It  had  therefore  been  com- 
pted ;  but  it  does  not  appear  that  Michelangelo 
td  commenced  his  fresco  in  the  Sala  del  Gran 
[insiglio. 

Lionardo  began  to  paint  his  Battle  of  the  Standard 
i  March  1505.  The  work  advanced  rapidly;  but 
fce  method  he  adopted,  which  consisted  in  applying 
:l  colours  to  a  fat  composition  laid  thickly  on  the 
all,  caused  the  ruin  of  his  picture.  He  is  said  to 
Lve  wished  to  reproduce  the  encaustic  process  of 
[e  ancients,  and  lighted  fires  to  harden  the  surface 
:  the  fresco.^  This  melted  the  wax  in  the  lower 
prtions  of  the  paste,  and  made  the  colours  run. 
t  any  rate,  no  traces  of  the  painting  now  remain 

the  Sala  del  Gran  Consiglio,  the  walls  of  which 
re  covered  by  the  mechanical  and  frigid  brush-work 
'  Vasari.     It  has  even  been  suggested  that  Vasari 

^  Condivi  is  our  authority  for  these  facts. 

i^  The  whole  could  not  have  been  completed.  Vasari  says  that 
onardo  left  off  in  disgust ;  and  a  letter  from  Soderini  to  his  agent 
Milan,  October  9,  1 506,  complains  that  "  Lionardo  acted  ill  toward 
e  Republic,  since  he  took  a  large  sum  of  money,  and  made  but  a  small 
jinning  of  a  great  work  he  was  engaged  to  do."  Gaye,  ii.  Sy,  Professor 
iddleton  reminds  me  that  in  liis  experiment  at  encaustic  painting 
onardo  followed  the  directions  given  by  Vitruvius  (vii.  9.  3). 

VOL.  I.  L 


A 


162  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

knew  more  about  the  disappearance  of  his  prec 
cesser's  masterpiece  than  he  has  chosen  to  relat 
Lionardo's  Cartoon  has  also  disappeared,  and 
know  the  Battle  of  Anghiari  only  by  Edelinck's  e 
graving  from  a  drawing  of  Rubens,  and  by  soi 
doubtful  sketches.^ 

The  same  fate  was  in  store  for  Michelangelc 
Cartoon.  All  that  remains  to  us  of  that  great  wo 
is  the  chiaroscuro  transcript  at  Holkham,  a  sket 
for  the  whole  composition  in  the  Albertina  Gallc 
at  Vienna,  which  differs  in  some  important  deta 
from  the  Holkham  group,  several  interesting  pen-au 
chalk  drawings  by  Michelangelo's  own  hand,  also 
the  Albertina  Collection,  and  a  line-engraving 
Marcantonio  Raimondi,  commonly  known  as  "I 
Grimpeurs.''^ 

We  do  not  know  at  what  exact  time  Michelang 
finished   his    Cartoon   in    1506.*     He   left   it,    ss 

^  Heath  Wilson,  p.  70. 

2  Crowe  and  CavaL^aselle  attribute  some  pieces  in  Eaphael's  sket 
book  to  transcripts  made  at  Florence  from  Lionardo's  fresco,  j 
of  Raphael^  i.  274. 

^  The  whole  subject  is  well  treated  by  M.  Thausing,  Michelang* 
Entwurf,    Leipzig  :  Seemann,  1878. 

*  Nearly  all  the  critics  who  have  entered  into  the  details  of 
question,  Milanesi  (in  Vasari),  Gotti,  Crowe  and  Cavalcaselle  (in  Li) 
Raphael),  Miinz  {L'CEuvre  et  la  Vie),  give  the  date  August  1 505.    T 
do  this  on  the  strength  of  two  entries  in  Gaye,  vol.  ii.  p.  93.     These  i 
minutes  of  payments,  one  on  February  28,  1505,  to  Michelangelo 
work  done  ;  the  other,  on  August  30,  1 505,  to  a  ropemaker  for  settin^jl 
the  Cartoon.     Something  is  wrong  here.     Even  supposing  that  Mic 
angelo  did  not  leave   Florence  for  Kome  as  early  as  January  i 
he  was  almost  certainly  at  Carrara  in  August  1505.    The  only 
to  reconcile  these  dates  is  to  suppose  that  Michelangelo  was  paic 


ill 


^1 


(p 


FATE   OF   MICHELANGELO'S   CARTOON.       163 

)ndivi,  in  the  Sala  del  Papa.     Afterwards  it  must 

ive  been  transferred  to  the  Sala  del  Gran  Consiglio  ; 

r  Albertini,  in  his  Memoriale,  or  Guide-Book  to 

orence,   printed   in    15 10,   speaks    of  both    "the 

3rks   of  Lionardo  da  Vinci   and   the  designs  of 

ichelangelo  "  as  then  existing  in  that  hall.     Vasari 

serts  that  it  was  taken  to  the  house  of  the  Medici, 

id  placed  in  the  great  upper  hall,  but  gives  no 

ite.     This  may  have  taken  place  on  the  return  of 

e  princely  family  in   15 12.     Cellini  confirms  this 

ew,  since  he  declares  that  when  he  was  copying 

LB   Cartoon,   which    could   hardly   have   happened 

jfore  15 13,  the  Battle  of  Pisa  was  at  the  Palace  of 

le  Medici,  and  the  Battle  of  Anghiari  at  the  Sala  del 

apa.^    The  way  in  which  it  finally  disappeared  is  in- 

3lved  in  some  obscurity,  owing  to  Vasari's  spite  and 

lendacity.    In  the  first,  or  1 550,  edition  of  the  "Lives 

abruary  1505  for  work  done  before  he  went  to  Rome,  and  that  the  Car- 
on  in  its  unfinished  state  was  framed  and  hung  during  his  absence 
'  August  1 505.  It  is  quite  clear,  from  Condivi,  Vasari,  and  Soderini's 
tter  of  November  27  (Gaye,  ii.  92),  that  he  was  working  on  the  Car- 
on  in  1506.  In  the  letter  to  Fattucci  (No.  ccclxxxiii.)  Michelangelo 
imself  says  that  when  he  went  to  Rome  the  Cartoon  was  in  progress  : 
2  expected  to  be  paid  3000  ducats,  and  thought  the  money  was  already 
ilf  gained.  Like  so  much  of  his  work,  he  probably  left  it  in  a  stage 
ordering  upon  completion.  His  subsequent  labour  in  1 506  may  have 
pought  it  to  that  unexampled  finish  which  Vasari  praises. 
^  Albertini,  quoted  by  Milanesi,  Vas.  vii.  33,  note ;  Vasari,  xii.  179; 
ellini,  Vita^  i.  cap.  12.  Albertini,  I  may  observe,  does  not  use  the 
ord  cartone,  but  disegni.  Yet  I  think  it  probable  that  he  meant  the 
irmer,  and  that  in  15 10  the  Cartoon  was  in  the  Sala  del  Gran  Con- 
glio.  It  appears  from  Michelangelo's  correspondence  (Lettere,  pp. 
U  92,  95)  that  in  the  year  1 508  it  must  have  still  been  in  the  Sala 
b1  Papa. 


i64  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

of  the  Painters,"  he  wrote  as  follows :  ^  *'  Havini 
become  a  regular  object  of  study  to  artists,  the  Cartoo 
was  carried  to  the  house  of  the  Medici,  into  the  gre 
upper  hall ;  and  this  was  the  reason  that  it  cam 
with  too  little  safeguard  into  the  hands  of  those  sai 
artists :  inasmuch  as,  during  the  illness  of  the  Duk 
Giuliano,  when  no  one  attended  to  such  matters,  i 
was  torn  in  pieces  by  them  and  scattered  abroad,  s 
that  fragments  may  be  found  in  many  places,  as  i 
proved  by  those  existing  now  in  the  house  of  Ubert 
Strozzi,  a  gentleman  of  Mantua,  who  holds  them  i 
great  respect."  When  Vasari  published  his  secon 
edition,  in  1568,  he  repeated  this  story  of  the  de 
struction  of  the  Cartoon,  but  with  a  very  significa: 
alteration.^  Instead  of  saying  "  it  was  torn  in  piece; 
hy  ihem^^  he  now  printed  "  it  was  torn  in  pieces,  q 
hath  been  told  elsewherer  Now  Bandinelli,  Vasari'|_ 
mortal  enemy,  and  the  scapegoat  for  all  the  sins  ( 
his  generation  among  artists,  died  in  1559,  an 
Vasari  felt  that  he  might  safely  defame  his  memoi} 
Accordingly  he  introduced  a  Life  of  Bandinelli  int 
the  second  edition  of  his  work,  containing  th 
following  passage :  ^  "  Baccio  was  in  the  habit  ( 
frequenting  the  place  where  the  Cartoon  stood  moi 
than  any  other  artists,  and  had  in  his  possession 
false  key ;  what  follows  happened  at  the  time  whe 

^  I  quote  from  a  manuscript  copy  of  tliis  edition,  and  cannot  therefoi 
give  the  page.  The  illness  of  Giuliano,  Duke  of  Nemours,  is  probabl 
the  one  which  preceded  his  death  in  15 16. 

2  Vaaari,  xii.  p.  179.  '  Vasari,  x.  p.  296. 


iie 


VASARI   AND   BANDINELLI.  165 

ero  Soderini  was  deposed  in  1512,  and  the  Medici 
turned.  Well,  then,  while  the  palace  was  in 
tmult  and  confusion  through  this  revolution,  Baccio 
t3nt  alone,  and  tore  the  Cartoon  into  a  thousand 
iigments.  Why  he  did  so  was  not  known ;  but 
sme  surmised  that  he  wanted  to  keep  certain 
jeces  of  it  by  him  for  his  own  use ;  some,  that  he 
wished  to  deprive  young  men  of  its  advantages  in 
mdy;  some,  that  he  was  moved  by  affection  for 
Jionardo  da  Vinci,  who  suffered  much  in  reputation 
1^  this  design  ;  some,  perhaps  with  sharper  intui- 
Dn,  believed  that  the  hatred  he  bore  to  Michel- 
iigelo  inspired  him  to  commit  the  act.  The  loss 
<'  the  Cartoon  to  the  city  was  no  slight  one,  and 
accio  deserved  the  blame  he  got,  for  everybody 
illed  him  envious  and  spiteful."  This  second  ver- 
on  stands  in  glaring  contradiction  to  the  first,  both 
,5  regards  the  date  and  the  place  where  the  Car- 
bon was  destroyed.  It  does  not,  I  think,  deserve 
redence,  for  Cellini,  who  was  a  boy  of  twelve  in 
512,  could  hardly  have  drawn  from  it  before  that 
ate ;  and  if  Bandinelli  was  so  notorious  for  his 
lalignant  vandalism  as  Vasari  asserts,  it  is  most 
nprobable  that  Cellini,  while  speaking  of  the 
'artoon  in  connection  with  Torrigiano,  should  not 
ave  taken  the  opportunity  to  cast  a  stone  at  the 
lan  whom  he  detested  more  than  any  one  in 
lorence.  Moreover,  if  Bandinelli  had  wanted  to 
estroy  the  Cartoon  for  any  of  the  reasons  above 
ssigned  to  him,  he  would  not  have  dispersed  frag- 


jloi 


i66  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO 

ments  to  be  treasured  up  with  reverence.  At  th 
close  of  this  tedious  summary  I  ought  to  add  ths 
Condivi  expressly  states  :^  *'I  do  not  know  by  wha 
ill-fortune  it  subsequently  came  to  ruin."  He  adds 
however,  that  many  of  the  pieces  were  found  aboi 
in  various  places,  and  that  all  of  them  were  pre 
served  like  sacred  objects.  We  have,  then,  evei 
reason  to  believe  that  the  story  told  in  Vasari's  firi 
edition  is  the  literal  truth.  Copyists  and  engrave] 
used  their  opportunity,  when  the  palace  of  th 
Medici  was  thrown  into  disorder  by  the  sevei 
illness  of  the  Duke  of  Nemours,  to  take  away  po) 
tions  of  Michelangelo's  Cartoon  for  their  own  u 
in  1 516. 

Of  the  Cartoon  and  its  great  reputation  Celli 
gives  us  this  account:^  ** Michelangelo  portray 
a  number  of  foot-soldiers,  who,  the  season  beinl 
summer,  had  gone  to  bathe  in  the  Arno.  He  dre^ 
them  at  the  very  momerit  the  alarm  is  sounded,  an 
the  men  all  naked  run  to  arms;  so  splendid  is  the 
action,  that  nothing  survives  of  ancient  or  of  moder 
art  which  touches  the"  same  lofty  pmul  of  exce 
lence ;  and,  as  I  have  already  said,  the  design  of  tt 
great  Lionardo  was  itself  most  admirably  beautifu 
These  two  Cartoons  stood,  one  in  the  palace  of  tl 
Medici,  the  other  in  the  hall  of  the  Pope.  So  Ion 
as  they  remained  intact,  they  were  the  school  of  tl 
world.      Though  the  divine   Michelangelo  in  lat< 

1  Condivi,  p.  31. 

2  Vita  J  lib.  i.  cap.  12,  Englished  by  J.  A.  Symonds. 


CELEBRITY   OF   THE   CARTOON.  167 

3  finished  that  great  chapel  of  Pope  Julius  (the 
jtine),  he  never  rose  halfway  to  the  same  pitch 

power ;   his  genius  never  afterwards  attained  to 

1  force  of  those  first  studies."  Allowing  for  some 
aggeration  due  to  enthusiasm  for  things  enjoyed 

early  youth,  this  is  a  very  remarkable  statement. 
Uini  knew  the  frescoes  of  the  Sistine  well,  yet 

maintains  that  they  were  inferior  in  power  and 
auty  to  the  Battle  of  Pisa.  It  seems  hardly 
edible ;  but,  if  we  believe  it,  the  legend  of  Michel- 

Fgelo's  being  unable  to  execute  his  own  designs  for 
e  vault  of  that  chapel  falls  to  the  ground. 


VII. 

\  The  great  Cartoon  has  become  less  even  than  a 
lemory,  and  so,  perhaps,  we  ought  to  leave  it  in 
le  limbo  of  things  inchoate  and  unaccomplished, 
•ut  this  it  was  not,  most  emphatically.  Decidedly 
.  had  its  day,  lived  and  sowed  seeds  for  good  or 
nl  through  its  period  of  brief  existence :  so  many 
ainters  of  the  grand  style  took  their  note  from  it ; 
;  did  so  much  to  introduce  the  last  phase  of  Italian 
rt,  the  phase  of  efflorescence,  the  phase  deplored 
y  critics  steeped  in  mediaeval  feeling.  To  re- 
apture  something  of  its  potency  from  the  descrip- 
Lon  of  contemporaries  is  therefore  our  plain  duty, 
nd  for  this  we  must  have  recourse  to  Vasari's  text. 


1 68 


LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 


>^     He  says  :  ^  **  Michelangelo  filled  his  canvas  with  nud 
men,  who,  bathing  at  the  time  of  summer  heat  i 
Arno,  were  suddenly  called  to  arms,  the  enemy  assail 
ing  them.     The  soldiers  swarmed  up  from  the  rive 
to  resume  their  clothes  ;  and  here  you  could  behol 
depicted  by  the  master  s  godlike  hands  one  hurryin 
to  clasp  his  limbs  in  steel  and  give  assistance  to  hi 
comrades,  another  buckling  on  the  cuirass,  and  manj 
seizing  this  or  that  weapon,  with  cavalry  in  squadron 
giving  the  attack.     Among  the  multitude  of  figures 
there  was  an  old  man,  who  wore  upon  his  head  ai 
ivy  wreath  for  shade.     Seated    on  the  ground,  ii 
act  to  draw  his  hose  up,  he  was  hampered  by  th([ 
wetness  of  his  legs  ;  and  while  he  heard  the  clamou]| 
^^^of  the  soldiers,  the  cries,  the  rumbling  of  the  drums 
he  pulled  with  all  his  might ;  all  the  muscles  anc 
sinews  of  his  body  were  seen  in  strain ;  and  wha 
was  more,  the  contortion  of  his  mouth  showed  wha 
agony  of  haste  he  suffered,  and  how  his  whole  frame! 
laboured  to  the  toe-tips.    Then  there  were  drummer^ 
and    men    with    flying    garments,    who    ran    star 
naked  toward  the  fray.     Strange  postures  too :  thii| 
fellow  upright,  that  man  kneeling,  or  bent  down 
or  on  the  point  of  rising  ;  all  in  the  air  foreshortened 
with  full  conquest  over  every  difficulty.     In  addi- 
tion, you  discovered  groups  of  figures  sketched  ii 
various  methods,  some  outlined  with  charcoal,  somd 
etched  with  strokes,  some  shadowed  with  the  stump| 

^  Vasari,  xii.  177  et  seq.     Condivi,  a  more  faithful  describer  thai 
Vasari,  is  silent  here. 


Figure  of  a  Bather. 


VASARI'S    DESCRIPTION.  169 

iime   relieved    in   white-lead ;    the    master   having 

KUght  to    prove  his   empire    over  all  materials  of 

•faughtsmanship.    The  craftsmen  of  design  remained 

lerewith   astonied   and    dumbfounded,   recognising 

le  furthest  reaches   of  their  art  revealed  to  them 

Y  this  unrivalled    masterpiece.      Those  who    exa- 

lined  the  forms  I  have  described,  painters  who  in- 

pected  and  compared  them  with  works  hardly  less 

ivine,  affirm   that  never  in  the  history  of  human 

chievement  was  any  product  of  a  man's  brain  seen 

ke  to  them  in  mere  supremacy.     And  certainly  we 

ave  the  right  to  believe  this ;  for  when  the  Cartoon 

/as  finished,  and  carried  to  the  Hall  of  the  Pope, 

mid  the  acclamation  of  all  artists,  and  to  the  ex- 

eeding   fame    of  Michelangelo,   the    students  who 

Qade  drawings  from  it,  as  happened  with  foreigners 

.nd  natives  through  many  years  in  Florence,  became 

nen  of  mark  in  several  branches.     This  is  obvious, 

or  Aristotele   da  San   Gallo  worked  there,  as  did 

ilidolfo   Ghirlandajo,  Raffaello  Sanzio    da    Urbino, 

i^rancesco  Granaccio,  Baccio  Bandinelli,  and  Alonso 

Berugetta,    the    Spaniard ;    they   were   followed   by 

indrea  del  Sarto,  Franciabigio,  Jacopo  Sansovino, 

Rosso,  Maturino,   Lorenzetto,   Tribolo,  then  a  boy, 

Jacopo  da  Pontormo,  and  Pierin  del  Vaga :   all  of 

:hem  first-rate  masters  of  the  Florentine  school." 

It  does  not  appear  from  this  that  Vasari  pretended 
to  have  seen  the  great  Cartoon.  Born  in  15 12,  he 
30uld  not  indeed  have  done  so ;  but  there  breathes 
uhrough  his  description  a  gust  of  enthusiasm,  an 


I70  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

afflatus  of  concurrent  witnesses  to  its  surpassin 
grandeur.  Some  of  the  details  raise  a  suspicio 
that  Vasari  had  before  his  eyes  the  transcript  e 
grisaille  which  he  says  was  made  by  Aristotele  d 
San  Gallo,  and  also  the  engraving  by  Marcantoni 
Raimondi.  The  prominence  given  to  the  ivj 
crowned  old  soldier  troubled  by  his  hose  confirin 
the  accuracy  of  the  Holkham  picture  and  the  Albei 
tina  drawing.^  But  none  of  these  partial  transcript 
left  to  us  convey  that  sense  of  multitude,  spac< 
and  varied  action  which  Vasari*s  words  impress  o 
the  imagination.  The  fullest,  that  at  Holkham,  cor 
tains  nineteen  figures,  and  these  are  schematicall 
arranged  in  three  planes,  with  outlying  subjects 
foreground  and  background.  Reduced  in  scale,  an 
treated  with  the  arid  touch  of  a  feeble  craftsman,  th 
linear  composition  suggests  no  large  aesthetic  charn 
It  is  simply  a  bas-relief  of  carefully  selected  attitude 
and  vigorously  studied  movements — nineteen  mei 
more  or  less  unclothed,  put  together  with  the  sciei 
tific  view  of  illustrating  possibilities  and  conquerin 
difficulties  in  postures  of  the  adult  male  body.  Th 
extraordinary  effect,  as  of  something  superhumai 
produced  by  the  Cartoon  upon  contemporaries,  an 
preserved  for  us  in  Cellini's  and  Vasari's  narrative 
must  then  have  been  due  to  unexampled  qualiti( 

^  Pages  12  and  13  of  Thausing's  essay.  The  fine  early  sketch  1 
Michelangelo's  own  hand  at  Vienna,  opposite  page  8  of  the  same  essa 
shows  the  old  man  in  the  foreground.  He  must  have  been  a  ma 
feature  in  the  composition. 


MASTERY   OF   THE    NUDE.  171 

|)f  strength  in  conception,  draughtsmanship,  and 
bxecution.  It  stung  to  the  quick  an  age  of  artists 
ivho  had  abandoned  the  representation  of  religious 
;;entiment  and  poetical  feeling  for  technical  triumphs 
md  masterly  solutions  of  mechanical  problems  in 
:he  treatment  of  the  nude  figure.  We  all  know 
now  much  more  than  this  Michelangelo  had  in  him 
p  give,  and  how  unjust  it  would  be  to  judge  a 
masterpiece  from  his  hand  by  the  miserable  relics 
laow  at  our  disposal.  Still  I  cannot  refrain  from 
ithinking  that  the  Cartoon  for  the  Battle  of  Pisa, 
itaken  up  by  him  as  a  field  for  the  display  of 
his  ability,  must,  by  its  very  brilliancy,  have  acce- 
lerated the  ruin  of  Italian  art.  Cellini,  we  saw, 
placed  it  above  the  frescoes  of  the  Sistine.  In 
iforce,  veracity,  and  realism  it  may  possibly  have  been 
superior  to  those  sublime  productions.  Everything 
we  know  about  the  growth  of  Michelangelo's  genius 
leads  us  to  suppose  that  he  departed  gradually  but 
surely  from  the  path  of  Nature.  He  came,  however, 
|to  use  what  he  had  learned  from  Nature  as  means  for 
jthe  expression  of  soul- stimulating  thoughts.  This, 
the  finest  feature  of  his  genius,  no  artist  of  the  age  was 
;  capable  of  adequately  comprehending.  Accordingly, 
they  agreed  in  extolling  a  cartoon  which  displayed  his 
faculty  of  dealing  with  un  bel  corpo  ignudo  as  the 
climax  of  his  powers. 

\  As  might  be  expected,  there  was  no  landscape  in  the 
Cartoon.  Michelangelo  handled  his  subject  wholly 
from  the  point   of  view    of  sculpture.     A   broken 


172  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

bank  and  a  retreating  platform,  a  few  rocks  in  th 
distance  and  a  few  waved  lines  in  the  foreground 
showed  that  the  naked  men  were  by  a  river.  Michel 
angelo's  unrelenting  contempt  for  the  many-formec 
and  many-coloured  stage  on  which  we  live  an( 
move — his  steady  determination  to  treat  men  an< 
women  as  nudities  posed  in  the  void,  with  jus 
enough  of  solid  substance  beneath  their  feet  to  mak 
their  attitudes  intelligible — is  a  point  which  mus 
over  and  over  again  be  insisted  on.  In  the  psychol 
ogy  of  the  master,  regarded  from  any  side  one  like 
,/  to  take,  this  constitutes  his  leading  characteristic 
T"  It  gives  the  key,  not  only  to  his  talent  as  an  artist 
but  also  to  his  temperament  as  a  man. 

Marcantonio  seems  to  have  felt  and  resented  th 
aridity  of  composition,  the  isolation  of  plastic  form 
the  tyranny  of  anatomical  science,  which  even  th 
most  sympathetic  of  us  feel  in  Michelangelo.  Thi 
master's  engraving  of  three  lovely  nudes,  the  mos 
charming  memento  preserved  to  us  from  the  Car 
toon,  introduces  a  landscape  of  grove  and  farm,  fieL 
and  distant  hill,  lending  suavity  to  the  muscula 
male  body  and  restoring  it  to  its  proper  place  amon 
the  sinuous  lines  and  broken  curves  of  Nature 
That  the  landscape  was  adapted  from  a  copper-plat 
of  Lucas  van  Ley  den  signifies  nothing.  It  serve 
the  soothing  purpose  which  sensitive  nerves,  irri 
tated  by  Michelangelo's  aloofness  from  all  else  bu 
thought  and  naked  flesh  and  posture,  gratefull; 
acknowledge. 


ANECDOTE   OF   LIONARDO.  17.^ 

I  While  Michelangelo  was  finishing  his  Cartoon, 
jionardo  da  Vinci  was  painting  his  fresco.  Circum- 
tances  may  have  brought  the  two  chiefs  of  Italian 
Tt  frequently  together  in  the  streets  of  Florence. 
Chere  exists  an  anecdote  of  one  encounter,  which, 
hough  it  rests  upon  the  credit  of  an  anonymous 
mter,  and  does  not  reflect  a  pleasing  light  upon 
he  hero  of  this  biography,  cannot  be  neglected.^ 
*  Lionardo,"  writes  our  authority,  *'  was  a  man  of 
air  presence,  well-proportioned,  gracefully  endowed, 
md  of  fine  aspect.  He  wore  a  tunic  of  rose-colour, 
ailing  to  his  knees ;  for  at  that  time  it  was  the 
ashion  to  carry  garments  of  some  length  ;  and  down 
0  the  middle  of  his  breast  there  flowed  a  beard 
)eautifully  curled  and  well  arranged.^  Walking 
vith  a  friend  near  S.  Trinity,  where  a  company  of 
lonest  folk  were  gathered,  and  talk  was  going  on 
ibout  some  passage  from  Dante,  they  called  to 
Liionardo,  and  begged  him  to  explain  its  meaning, 
[t  so  happened  that  just  at  this  moment  Michel- 
mgelo  went  by,  and,  being  hailed  by  one  of  them, 
Liionardo  answered  :  *  There  goes  Michelangelo  ;  he 
vill  interpret  the  verses  you  require.'  Whereupon 
Michelangelo,  who  thought  he  spoke  in  this  way  to 
nake  fun  of  him,  replied  in  anger  :  '  Explain  them 
yourself,  you  who  made  the  model  of  a  horse  to 
jast  in  bronze,  and  could  not  cast  it,  and  to  your 

^  Gotti,  vol.  i.  p.  48. 

2  This  recalls  Lionardo's  chalk-drawings  of  his  own  head  in  old  age, 
md  the  oil-picture  at  the  Uffizi. 


174  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

shame  left  it  in  the  hirch.'  ^  With  these  words,  I 
turned  his  back  to  the  group,  and  went  his  wa 
Lionardo  remained  standing  there,  red  in  the  fa( 
for  the  reproach  cast  at  him ;  and  Michelangel 
not  satisfied,  but  wanting  to  sting  him  to  the  quid 
added  :  '  And  those  Milanese  capons  believed  in  yoi 
abihty  to  do  it ! '  " 

We  can  only  take  anecdotes  for  what  they  ai 
worth,  and  that  may  perhaps  be  considered  sligl 
when  they  are  anonymous.  This  anecdote,  hoT 
ever,  in  the  original  Florentine  diction,  although 
y  betrays  a  partiality  for  Lionardo,  bears  the  aspe 
V  of  truth  to  fact.  Moreover,  even  Michelangelo 
admirers  are  bound  to  acknowledge  that  he  had 
rasping  tongue,  and  was  not  incapable  of  showir 
his  bad  temper  by  rudeness.  From  the  period 
his  boyhood,  when  Torrigiano  smashed  his  nos 
down  to  the  last  years  of  his  life  in  Rome,  wh€ 
he  abused  his  nephew  Lionardo  and  hurt  the  fee 
ings  of  his  best  and  oldest  friends,  he  discovere 
signs  of  a  highly  nervous  and  fretful  temperamen 
It  must  be  admitted  that  the  dominant  qualities 
nobility  and  generosity  in  his  nature  were  alloye 
by  suspicion  bordering  on  littleness,  and  by  petulai 
yieldings  to  the  irritation  of  the  moment  which  ai 
incompatible  with  the  calm  of  an  Olympian  genius. 

1  The  equestrian  statue  of  Francesco  Sforza. 


CHAPTER  V 

Bramante's  intrigues  at  Kome  against  Michelangelo. — Friends  entreat 
him  to  return. — His  fear  of  Julius. — The  Pope  corresponds  with 
the  Signory  about  his  extradition. — Julius  is  now  at  Bologna. — 
Michelangelo  decides  to  go  and  beg  his  pardon  there. — Two 
sonnets  on  the  Pope. — Account  of  the  campaign  undertaken  by- 
Julius. — 2.  Michelangelo  reaches  Bologna  in  November  1506. — Is 
received  and  pardoned. — Julius  commissions  him  to  cast  his  statue 
in  bronze. — His  penurious  life  at  Bologna. — 111  served  by  work- 
men.— The  dagger  designed  for  P.  Aldobrandini. — Meeting  with 
Francia. — 3.  Preparations  for  casting  the  statue  of  Julius. — Partial 
failure  of  the  first  attempt. — The  second  completes  the  work. — 
Chasing  and  finishing. — The  statue  placed  above  the  door  of  S. 
Petronio,  February  21,  1508. — Its  destruption  in  151 1. — Michel- 
angelo returns  to  Florence  in  March. — 4.  Michelangelo  emancipated 
by  his  father. — Joins  Julius  in  Rome. — First  project  for  the  vault 
of  the  Sistine. — Second  and  larger  scheme. — The  scaffolding. — 
Michelangelo  engages  Florentine  fresco-painters. — Begins  to  pre- 
pare cartoons  in  May. — His  method. — Finds  that  his  assistants  are 
useless. — Practical  difficulties  with  the  fresco. — Julius  visits  him 
upon  the  scaffolding. — 5.  The  first  half  of  the  vault  uncovered, 
November  i,  1509. —  Its  immediate  and  immense  success. — 
Raffaello  da  Urbino. — Bramante's  attempt  to  procure  for  him  the 
completion  of  the  vault. — The  rivalry  and  quarrels  of  artists  at 
Rome. — 6.  Michelangelo's  profound  silence  with  regard  to  his  own 
art- work. — 7.  Fabulous  tradition  concerning  the  space  of  time  em- 
ployed upon  the  Sistine. — Unfinished  state  of  the  frescoes  when 
they  were  finally  exposed  to  view,  October  15,  15 12. — 8.  Domestic 
life  in  Rome. — The  boy  from  Florence. — Angry  letters  to  his 
brothers. — Irritability  combined  with  deep  and  lasting  love  for  his 
family. — Kind  letters  to  his  father. — The  battle  of  Ravenna  and 
the  sack  of  Prato. — Return  of  the  Medici  to  Florence  in  September 
1512. — Michelangelo's  anxiety. — His  attitude  toward  the  Medici. 
— 9.  The  sonnet  to  Giovanni  da  Pistoja  about  the  frescoes  of  the 
Sistine. 

»7S 


176  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 


While   Michelangelo   was   living  and  working 
Florence,  Bramante  had  full  opportunity  to  poiso 
the  Pope's  mind  in  Rome.    It  is  commonly  believe 
on  the  faith  of  a  sentence  in  Condi vi,  that  Bramant 
when  he  dissuaded  Julius  from  building  the  tomb  i 
his  own  lifetime,  suggested  the  painting  of  the  Sistin| 
Chapel.     We  are  told  that  he  proposed  Michelange 
for  this  work,  hoping  his  genius  would  be  hampere| 
by  a  task  for  which  he  was  not  fitted.     There  a 
many  improbabilities  in  this   story ;    not  the  lea 
being  our  certainty  that  the  fame  of  the  Cartoon  mu 
have  reached  Bramante  before  Michelangelo's  arriv 
in  the  first  months  of  1 505.    But  the  Cartoon  did  n 
prove  that  Buonarroti  was  a  practical  wall-painter  d 
colourist  ;  and  we  have  reason  to  believe  that  Juliii 
had  himself  conceived  the  notion  of  intrusting  t 
Sistine  to  his  sculptor.     A  good  friend  of  Miche 
angelo,    Pietro   Rosselli,    wrote   this   letter   on   ttl 
subject,  May   6,   1506:^    **Last   Saturday   evenin|y| 
when  the  Pope  was  at  supper,  I  showed  him  son]|(j| 
designs  which   Bramante    and  I   had  to   test ;    s«  ^ 
after  supper,  when  I  had  displayed  them,  he  calle  L 
for  Bramante,  and  said  :    '  San    Gallo   is    going  1 " 
Florence  to-morrow,   and  will   bring   Michelange]  ia 
back  with  him.'    Bramante  answered:  *  Holy  Fathe 
he  will  not  be  able  to  do  anything  of  the  kind. 

1  Gotti,  i.  p.  46. 


BRAM ANTE'S    INTRIGUES.  177 

ve  conversed  much  with  Michelangelo,  and  he 
s  often  told  me  that  he  would  not  undertake  the 
apel,  which  you  wanted  to  put  upon  him  ;  and 
it,  you  notwithstanding,  he  meant  only  to  apply 
nself  to  sculpture,  and  would  have  nothing  to 
with  painting.'  To  this  he  added  :  '  Holy  Father, 
do  not  think  he  has  the  courage  to  attempt  the 
)rk,  because  he  has  small  experience  in  painting 
ures,  and  these  will  be  raised  high  above  the 
le  of  vision,  and  in  foreshortening  {i.e.,  because 

the  vault).  That  is  something  different  from 
inting  on  the   ground.'     The  Pope  replied :    *  If 

does  not  come,  he  will  do  me  wrong ;  and  so  I 
ink  that  he  is  sure  to  return.'  Upon  this  I  up, 
d  gave  the  man  a  sound  rating  in  the  Pope's 
Bsence,  and  spoke  as  I  believe  you  would  have 
oken  for  me  ;  and  for  the  time  he  was  struck  dumb, 

though  he  felt  that  he  had  made  a  mistake  in 
king  as  he  did.  I  proceeded  as  follows :  *  Holy 
ther,  that  man  never  exchanged  a  word  with 
Lchelangelo,  and  if  what  he  has  just  said  is  the 
ith,  I  beg  you  to  cut  my  head  off,  for  he  never 
oke  to  Michelangelo ;    also    I   feel    sure  that  he 

certain    to    return,    if   your    Holiness    requires 

This  altercation  throws  doubt  on  the  statement 
at  Bramante  originally  suggested  Michelangelo  as 
inter  of  the  Sistine.  He  could  hardly  have  turned 
and  against  his  own  recommendation ;  and,  more- 
er,  it  is  likely  that  he  would  have  wished  to  keep 

70L.  I.  M 


178 


XIFE  OF  MICHELANGELO. 


so  great  a  work  in  the  hands  of  his  own  set,  Eaffael 
Peruzzi,  Sodoma,  and  others/ 

Meanwhile,  Michelangelo's  friends  in  Rome  wrc 
encouraging  him  to  come  back.    They  clearly  thou| 
that   he  was  hazarding   both  profit  and  Ixonourl 
he  stayed  away.^     But   Michelangelo,  whether  l| 
constitutional  timidity  of  which  I  have  spoken, 
other  reasons  damped  his  courage,  felt  that  he  coi 

^  not  trust  to  the  Pope's  mercies.     What  effect  9 
Gallo  may  have  had  upon  him,  supposing  this  arci 
tect  arrived  in  Florence  at  the  middle  of  May,  i 
only  be  conjectured.     The  fact  remains  that  he  c 
tinned  stubborn  for  a  time.    In  the  lengthy  autoll 
graphical   letter  written   to  some  prelate  in  15I 
Michelangelo  relates  what  followed  ;  ^    "  Later 
while  I  was  at  Florence,  Julius  sent  three  briefs 
the  Signory.     At  last  the  latter  sent  for  me  and  sal 
*  We  do  not  want  to  go  to  war  with  Pope  Ju^ 
.  because  of  you.     You  must  return ;  and  if  youl 

/     so,  we  will  write  you  letters  of  such  authority  tij 
should  he  do  you  harm,  he  will  be  doing  it  to 
Signory.      Accordingly  I  took  the  letters,  and  w| 
back  to  the  Pope." 

Condivi  gives  a  graphic  account  of  the  tran| 
tions   which    ensued.*      *'  During    the    months 
stayed  in  Florence  three  papal  briefs  were  sen* 


1  For  the  social  gatherings  of  painters  at  Bramante's  house  in  ll 
see  Vasari,  xiii.  73.  F  *^ ' 

*  See  Giovanni  Balducci's  letter,  May  8,  1 506,  in  Gotti,  vol.  ii.  ;| 
3  Lettere,  No.  cdxxxv.  *  Condivi,  p.  30. 


JULIUS   SENDS   FOR   MICHELANGELO.         179 

e  Signory,  full  of  threats,  commanding  that  he 
ould  be  sent  back  by  fair  means  or  by  force, 
ero  Soderini,  who  was  Gonfalonier  for  life  at  that 
Qe,  had  sent  him  against  his  own  inclination  to 
)me  when  Julius  first  asked  for  him.  Accord- 
gly,  when  the  first  of  these  briefs  arrived,  he  did 
t  compel  Michelangelo  to  go,  trusting  that  the 
»pe's  anger  would  calm  down.  But  when  the 
3ond  and  the  third  were  sent,  he  called  Michel- 
gelo  and  said :  *  You  have  tried  a  bout  with  the 
)pe  on  which  the  King  of  France  would  not  have 
ntured ;  therefore  you  must  not  go  on  letting 
urself  be  prayed  for.  We  do  not  wish  to  go  to 
ir  on  your  account  with  him,  and  put  our  state 
peril.  Make  your  mind  up  to  return.'  Michel- 
gelo,  seeing  himself  brought  to  this  pass,  and 
11  fearing  the  anger  of  the  Pope,  bethought  him 

taking  refuge  in  the  East.  The  Sultan  indeed 
sought  him  with  most  liberal  promises,  through 
e  means  of  certain  Franciscan  friars,  to  come  and 
Qstruct  a  bridge  from  Constantinople  to  Pera,  and 

execute  other  great  works.  When  the  Gon- 
ionier  got  wind  of  this  intention  he  sent  for 
ichelangelo  and  used  these  arguments  to  dissuade 
oa  :  '  It  were  better  to  choose  death  with  the  Pope 
m  to  keep  in  life  by  going  to  the  Turk.  Never- 
3less,  there  is  no  fear  of  such  an  ending ;  for  the 
•pe  is  well  disposed,  and  sends  for  you  because 

loves  you,  not  to  do  you  harm.  If  you  are 
aid,  the  Signory  will  send  you  with  the  title  of 


i8o 


LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 


ambassador ;    forasmuch   as   public   personages 
never  treated  with  violence,  since  this  would  be  d( 
to  those  who  send  them.'  " 

We  only  possess    one   brief  from  Julius   to  t| 
Signory  of  Florence.      It  is  dated  Rome,   July 
1506,  and  contains  this  passage:^  *' Michelangi 
the  sculptor,   who   left  us   without   reason,   and| 
mere  caprice,  is  afraid,  as  we  are  informed,  of 
"^  turning,  though  we  for  our  part  are  not  angry  wj 
him,  knowing  the  humours  of  such  men  of  genij 
In  order,  then,  that  he  may  lay  aside  all  anxiety, 
rely  on  your  loyalty  to  convince  him  in  our  m 
that  if  he  returns  to  us,  he  shall  be  uninjured  sj 
unhurt,  retaining  our  apostolic  favour  in  the  ss 
measure   as   he  formerly  enjoyed    it."      The   di 
July  8,  is  important  in  this  episode  of  Michelangej 
life.     Soderini  sent  back  an  answer  to  the  Po] 
brief  within   a   few  days,   affirming  that   "  Micl 
angelo  the  sculptor  is  so  terrified^   that,  notwi] 
standing  the  promise    of  his   Holiness,  it  will 
necessary  for  the  Cardinal  of  Pavia  to  write  a  lej 
signed  by  his  own   hand    to  us,   guaranteeing 
safety  and  immunity.     We  have  done,  and  are  doil 
all  we  can  to  make  him  go  back ;    assuring  yl 
Lordship  that,  unless  he  is  gently  handled,  he  '| 
quit  Florence,   as  he  has  already  twice  wantec 


1  Bottari,  Lett.  Pitt.,  iii.  p.  472. 

2  Michelangelo,  in  one  draft  of  his  letter  to  Fattucci  (Letterej 
ccclxxxiv.),  writes  :  '*  Dipoi  circa  sette  o  otto  mesi  che  io  stetti 
ascoso  per  paura,  sendo  crucciato  meco  el  Papa." 


SODERINI'S   CORRESPONDENCE.  i8i 

I."  This  letter  is  followed  by  another  addressed 
i  the  Cardinal  of  Volterra  under  date  July  28.^ 
derini  repeats  that  Michelangelo  will  not  budge, 
3ause  he  has  as  yet  received  no  definite  safe-con- 
ct.  It  appears  that  in  the  course  of  August  the 
gotiations  had  advanced  to  a  point  at  which 
chelangelo  was  willing  to  return.  On  the  last 
7  of  the  month  the  Signory  drafted  a  letter  to  the 
rdinal  of  Pavia  in  which  they  say  that  *'  Michel- 
gelo  Buonarroti,  sculptor,  citizen  of  Florence,  and 
jatly  loved  by  us,  will  exhibit  these  letters  present, 
^ing  at  last  been  persuaded  to  repose  confidence 
his  Holiness."  They  add  that  he  is  coming  in 
Dd  spirits  and  with  good-will.  Something  may 
^e  happened  to  renew  his  terror,  for  this  despatch 
s  not  delivered,  and  nothing  more  is  heard  of  the 
nsaction  till  toward  the  close  of  November.  It 
probable,  however,  that  Soderini  suddenly  dis- 
^ered  how  little  Michelangelo  was  likely  to  be 
nted ;  Julius,  on  the  2  7th  of  August,  having 
rted  on  what  appeared  to  be  his  mad  campaign 
linst  Perugia  and  Bologna.  On  the  21st  of 
vember  following  the  Cardinal  of  Pavia  sent  an 
:ograph  letter  from  Bologna  to  the  Signory, 
gently  requesting  that  they  would  despatch 
chelangelo  immediately  to  that  town,  inasmuch 
the  Pope  was  impatient  for  his  arrival,  and 
nted  to  employ  him  on  important  works.     Six 

See  Gaye,  vol.  ii.  pp.  83,  84,  85,  91,  93,  for  the    whole   corre- 
idence. 


1 


r82  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

days  later,  November  27,  Soderini  writes  two  lett 
one  to  the  Cardinal  of  Pavia  and  one  to  the  Cardi 
of  Volterra,  which  finally  conclude  the  whole  bu| 
ness.  The  epistle  to  Volterra  begins  thus  :  *' 
bearer  of  these  present  will  be  Michelangelo,  t| 
sculptor,  whom  we  send  to  please  and  satisfy 
Holiness.  We  certify  that  he  is  an  excellent  yo 
man,  and  in  his  own  art  without  peer  in  Italy, 
haps  also  in  the  universe.  We  cannot  recomm 
him  more  emphatically.  His  nature  is  such,  i 
with  good  words  and  kindness,  if  these  are  given  h 
he  will  do  everything  ;  one  has  to  show  him  LI 
and  treat  him  kindly,  and  he  will  perform  thii 
which  will  make  the  whole  world  wonder."  Il 
letter  to  Pavia  is  written  more  familiarly,  read 
like  a  private  introduction.  In  both  of  them  SodeJ 
enhances  the  service  he  is  rendering  the  Poper 
alluding  to  the  magnificent  design  for  the  Battle[ 
Pisa  which  Michelangelo  must  leave  unfinished! 
Before  describing  his  reception  at  Bologna, 
may  be  well  to  quote  two  sonnets  here  which  thil 
an  interesting  light  upon  Michelangelo's  persoi 
feeling  for  Julius  and  his  sense  of  the  corrupts 
of  the  Eoman  Curia. ^  The  first  may  well  h 
been  written  during  this  residence  at  Florenc 
and  the  autograph  of  the  second  has  these  curiil 

^  He  says  that  Michelangelo  has  principiato  una  storiaper  il  pw 
che  sard  cosa  admiranda. 

2  Rime :  Sonnets,  Nos.  iii.  and  iv. 

^  A  drawing  at  Oxford  for  the  battle  of  Pisa  has  this  sonnet  wrj 
on  the  back.     See  Robinson,  p.  21. 


SONNETS   ON   THE   POPE.  183 

ords  added  at  the  foot  of  the  page  :  "  Vostro  Michel-  r^ 

ngnioloj  in  TurchiaJ'     Rome  itself,  the  Sacred  City, 

,as   become  a   land  of  infidels,  and  Michelangelo, 

hose  thoughts  are  turned  to  the  Levant,  implies 

lat  he  would  find  himself  no  worse  off  with  the 

ultan  than  the  Pope. 

My  Lord  !  if  ever  ancient  saw  spake  sooth. 

Hear  this  which  saith  :  Who  can  doth  never  will. 

Lo,  thou  hast  lent  thine  ear  to  fables  still, 

Rewarding  those  who  hate  the  name  of  truth. 
I  am  thy  drudge,  and  have  been  from  my  youth — 

Thine,  like  the  rays  which  the  sun's  circle  fill ; 

Yet  of  my  dear  time's  waste  thou  think' st  no  ill : 

The  more  I  toil,  the  less  I  move  thy  ruth. 
Once  'twas  my  hope  to  raise  me  by  thy  height ; 

But  'tis  the  balance  and  the  powerful  sword 

Of  Justice,  not  false  Echo,  that  we  need. 
Heaven,  as  it  seems,  plants  virtue  in  despite 

Here  on  the  earth,  if  this  be  our  reward-^ 

To  seek  for  fruit  on  trees  too  dry  to  breed. 

Here  helms  and  swords  are  made  of  chalices  : 

The  blood  of  Christ  is  sold  so  much  the  quart  : 

His  cross  and  thorns  are  spears  and  shields ;   and  short 

Must  be  the  time  ere  even  His  patience  cease. 
Nay,  let  Him  come  no  more  to  raise  the  fees 

Of  this  foul  sacrilege  beyond  report : 

For  Rome  still  flays  and  sells  Him  at  the  court. 

Where  paths  are  closed  to  virtue's  fair  increase. 
Now  were  fit  time  for  me  to  scrape  a  treasure. 

Seeing  that  work  and  gain  are  gone  ;  while  he 

Who  wears  the  robe,  is  my  Medusa  still. 
God  welcomes  poverty  perchance  with  pleasure : 

But  of  that  better  life  what  hope  have  we, 

When  the  blessed  banner  leads  to  nought  but  ill  % 


i84  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

While  Michelangelo  was    planning   frescoes  an 
venting  his  bile   in    sonnets,   the   fiery   Pope   ha 
started  on   his    perilous    career   of  conquest.     H 
called  the  Cardinals   together,  and  informed  the 
that  he  meant  to   free  the   cities   of  Perugia   a 
Bologna  from  their  tyrants.     God,  he  said,  woul||!i 
protect  His  Church ;  he  could  rely  on  the  suppo 
of  France  and  Florence.     Other  Popes  had  stirr 
up  wars  and  used  the  services  of  generals  ;  he  mea 
to  take  the  field  in  person.     Louis  XII.  is  reported  l| 
have  jeered  among  his  courtiers  at  the  notion  of 
high-priest  riding  to  the  wars.    A  few  days  afterward] 
on  the  27th  of  August,  the  Pope  left  Home  attend 
by    twenty-four    cardinals    and    500    men-at-ar 
He  had  previously  secured  the  neutrality  of  Veni 
and  a  promise  of  troops   from   the   French  cou 
When  Julius  reached  Orvieto,  he  was  met  by  Gia 
paolo    Baglioni,  the   bloody   and   licentious  desp 
of   Perugia.     Notwithstanding  Baglioni  knew  t 
Julius  was    coming   to    assert  his   supremacy,  a; 
notwithstanding   the    Pope   knew  that   this   migj 
drive  to  desperation  a  man  so  violent  and  stain 
with    crime    as    Baglioni,    they   rode    together 
Perugia,   where   Gianpaolo  paid  homage  and  su 
plied  his  haughty  guest  with   soldiers.     The  ras* 
ness  of  this  act  of  Julius  sent  a  thrill  of  admirati<  i : 
throughout  Italy,   stirring  that    sense  of  terribiU 
which  fascinated  the  imagination  of  the  Eenaissanc 
Machiavelli,   commenting   upon   the    action  of  i 
Baglioni,  remarks  that  the  event  proved  how  dii 


I 


JULIUS   ENTERS   BOLOGNA.  185 

alt  it  is  for  a  man  to  be  perfectly  and  scientifically 
icked.  Gianpaolo,  he  says,  murdered  his  rela- 
lons,  oppressed  his  subjects,  and  boasted  of  being 
father  by  his  sister;  yet,  when  he  got  his  worst 
Jnemy  into  his  clutches,  he  had  not  the  spirit  to 
le  magnificently  criminal,  and  murder  or  imprison 
iulius.  From  Perugia  the  Pope  crossed  the  Apen- 
nines, and  found  himself  at  Imola  upon  the  20th  of 
)ctober.  There  he  received  news  that  the  French 
governor  of  Milan,  at  the  order  of  his  king,  was 
tbout  to  send  him  a  reinforcement  of  600  lances 
md  3000  foot-soldiers.  This  announcement,  while 
t  cheered  the  heart  of  Julius,  struck  terror  into 
he  Bentivogli,  masters  of  Bologna.  They  left 
heir  city  and  took  refuge  in  Milan,  while  the 
)eople  of  Bologna  sent  envoys  to  the  Pope's  camp, 
urrendering  their  town  and  themselves  to  his 
tpostolic  clemency.  On  the  nth  of  November,  S. 
Martin's  day,  Giuliano  della  Rovere  made  his 
riumphal  entry  into  Bologna,  having  restored  two 
vealthy  provinces  to  the  states  of  the  Church  by 
I  stroke  of  sheer  audacity,  unparalleled  in  the 
listory  of  any  previous  pontiff.  Ten  days  after- 
vards  we  find  him  again  renewing  negotiations  with 
he  Signory  for  the  extradition  of  Michelangelo. 


i86  LIFE  OF  MICHELANGELO. 


II. 


fl 


"  Arriving  then  one  morning  at  Bologna,  an 
going  to  hear  Mass  at  S.  Petronio,  there  met  hi 
the  Pope's  grooms  of  the  stable,  who  immediate 
recognised  him,  and  brought  him  into  the  presenc| 
of  his  Holiness,  then  at  table  in  the  Palace  of  th 
Sixteen.^  When  the  Pope  beheld  him,  his  fac 
clouded  with  anger,  and  he  cried  :  *  It  was  you 
duty  to  come  to  seek  us,  and  you  have  waited  til 
we  came  to  seek  you  ; '  meaning  thereby  that  hi 
Holiness  having  travelled  to  Bologna,  which  is  muc 
nearer  to  Florence  than  Bome,  he  had  come  to  fin 
him  out.  Michelangelo  knelt,  and  prayed  for  pa 
don  in  a  loud  voice,  pleading  in  his  excuse  tha 
he  had  not  erred  through  frowardness,  but  throug) 
great  distress  of  mind,  having  been  unable  to  endur 
the  expulsion  he  received.  The  Pope  remained  hold 
ing  his  head  low  and  answering  nothing,  evidentl 
much  agitated ;  when  a  certain  prelate,  sent  by  Car 
dinal  Soderini  to  put  in  a  good  word  for  Michelangelo 
came  forward  and  said  :  *  Your  Holiness  might  over  ' 
look  his  fault ;  he  did  wrong  through  ignorance 
these  painters,  outside  their  art,  are  all  like  this. 
Thereupon  the  Pope  answered  in  a  fury :  '  It  is  you 
not  I,  who  are  insulting  him.  It  is  you,  not  he 
who  are  the  ignoramus  and  the  rascal.  Get  henc< 
out  of  my    sight,   and  bad  luck  to  you!'     Whei 

^  Condi vi,  p.  31. 


MICHELANGELO   RETURNS   TO   THE   POPE.    187 

the  fellow  did  not  move,  he  was  cast  forth  by  the 
servants,  as  Michelangelo  used  to  relate,  with  good 
round  kicks  and  thumpings.  So  the  Pope,  having 
spent  the  surplus  of  his  bile  upon  the  bishop,  took 
Michelangelo  apart  and  pardoned  him.  Not  long 
afterwards  he  sent  for  him  and  said  :  '  I  wish  you 
to  make  my  statue  on  a  large  scale  in  bronze.  I 
mean  to  place  it  on  the  fagade  of  San  Petronio.' 
When  he  went  to  Rome  in  course  of  time,  he  left 
1000  ducats  at  the  bank  of  Messer  Antonmaria  da 
Lignano  for  this  purpose.  But  before  he  did  so 
Michelangelo  had  made  the  clay  model.  Being  in 
some  doubt  how  to  manage  the  left  hand,  after 
making  the  Pope  give  the  benediction  with  the 
right,  he  asked  Julius,  who  had  come  to  see  the 
statue,  if  he  would  like  it  to  hold  a  book.  *  What 
book?'  replied  he:  'a  sword!  I  know  nothing 
about  letters,  not  I.'  Jesting  then  about  the  right 
hand,  which  was  vehement  in  action,  he  said  with 
a  smile  to  Michelangelo  :  *  That  statue  of  yours,  is 
it  blessing  or  cursing?'  To  which  the  sculptor: 
*  Holy  Father,  it  is  threatening  this  people  of 
Bologna  if  they  are  not  prudent.' " 

Michelangelo's  letter  to  Fattucci  confirms  Con- 
divi's  narrative.^  "  When  Pope  Julius  went  to 
Bologna  the  first  time,  I  was  forced  to  go  there  with 
a  rope  round  my  neck  to  beg  his  pardon.  He 
ordered  me  to  make  his  portrait  in  bronze,  sitting, 
about  seven  cubits  (14  feet)  in  height.     When  he 

^  Lettere,  No.  ccclxxxiii. 


1 88  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

asked  what  it  would  cost,  I  answered  that  I  though1|| 
I  could  cast  it  for  looo  ducats;  but  that  this  was 
not  my  trade,  and  that  I  did  not  wish  to  undertake; 
it.  He  answered :  *  Go  to  work  ;  you  shall  cast  ill 
over  and  over  again  till  it  succeeds  ;  and  I  will  give 
you  enough  to  satisfy  your  wishes.'  To  put  i1 
briefly,  I  cast  the  statue  twice  ;  and  at  the  end  oi 
two  years,  at  Bologna,  I  found  that  I  had  four  and 
a  half  ducats  left.  I  never  received  anything  more 
for  this  job ;  and  all  the  moneys  I  paid  out  during ^ 
the  said  two  years  were  the  looo  ducats  with  which 
I  promised  to  cast  it.  These  were  disbursed  to  mel 
in  instalments  by  Messer  Antonio  Maria  da  Legnano, 
a  Bolognese." 

The  statue  must  have  been  more  than  thrice  life- 
size,  if  it  rose  fourteen  feet  in  a  sitting  posture. 
Michelangelo  worked  at  the  model  in  a  hall  called 
the  Stanza  del  Pavaglione  behind  the  Cathedral. 
Three  experienced  workmen  were  sent,  at  his  re- 
quest, from  Florence,  and  he  began  at  once  upon 
the  arduous  labour.  His  domestic  correspondence, 
which  at  this  period  becomes  more  copious  and  in- 
teresting, contains  a  good  deal  of  information  con- 
cerning his  residence  at  Bologna.  His  mode  of  life, 
as  usual,  was  miserable  and  penurious  in  the  extreme. 
This  man,  about  whom  popes  and  cardinals  and  gon- 
faloniers had  been  corresponding,  now  hired  a  single 
room  with  one  bed  in  it,  where,  as  we  have  seen, 
he  slept  together  with  his  three  assistants.  There 
can  be  no  doubt  that  such  eccentric  habits  prevented 


TROUBLE   WITH   WORKMEN.  189 

Michelangelo  from  inspiring  his  subordinates  with 
idue  respect.  The  want  of  control  over  servants  and 
workmen,  which  is  a  noticeable  feature  of  his 
'private  life,  may  in  part  be  attributed  to  this  cause. 
And  now,  at  Bologna,  he  soon  got  into  trouble  with 
!the  three  craftsmen  he  had  engaged  to  help  him. 
They  were  Lapo  d' Antonio  di  Lapo,  a  sculptor  at 
the  Opera  del  Duomo ;  Lodovico  del  Buono,  sur- 
named  Lotti,  a  metal-caster  and  founder  of  cannon ; 
and  Pietro  Urbano,  a  craftsman  who  continued  long 
in  his  service.  Lapo  boasted  that  he  was  executing 
the  statue  in  partnership  with  Michelangelo  and 
upon  equal  terms,  which  did  not  seem  incredible 
considering  their  association  in  a  single  bedroom. 
Beside  this,  he  intrigued  and  cheated  in  money 
matters.  The  master  felt  that  he  must  get  rid  of 
him,  and  send  the  fellow  back  to  Florence.  Lapo, 
not  choosing  to  go  alone,  lest  the  truth  of  the  affair 
should  be  apparent,  persuaded  Lodovico  to  join 
him;  and  when  they  reached  home,  both  began 
to  calumniate  their  master.  Michelangelo,  knowing 
that  they  were  likely  to  do  so,  wrote  to  his  brother 
Buonarroto  on  the  ist  of  February  1507:^  **I  in- 
form you  further  how  on  Friday  morning  I  sent 
away  Lapo  and  Lodovico,  who  were  in  my  service. 
Lapo,  because  he  is  good  for  nothing  and  a  rogue, 
and  could  not  serve  me.  Lodovico  is  better,  and  I 
should  have  been  willing  to  keep  him  another  two 
months,  but  Lapo,  in  order  to  prevent  blame  falling 

1  Lettere,  No.  1. 


I90  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

on  himself  alone,  worked  upon  the  other  so  that 
both  went  away  together.  I  write  you  this,  not  that  \ 
I  regard  them,  for  they  are  not  worth  three  farthings 
the  pair  of  them,  but  because  if  they  come  to  talk 
to  Lodovico  (Buonarroti)  he  must  not  be  surprised 
at  what  they  say.  Tell  him  by  no  means  to  lend 
them  his  ears ;  and  if  you  want  to  be  informed 
about  them,  go  to  Messer  Angelo,  the  herald  of 
the  Signory;^  for  I  have  written  the  whole  story 
to  him,  and  he  will,  out  of  his  kindly  feeling,  tell 
you  just  what  happened." 

In  spite  of  these  precautions,  Lapo  seems  to  have 
gained  the  ear  of  Michelangelo's  father,  who  wrote 
a  scolding  letter  in  his  usual  puzzle-headed  way 
Michelangelo  replied  in  a  tone  of  real  and  ironical 
humility,  which  is  exceedingly  characteristic:^  "Most 
revered  father,  I  have  received  a  letter  from  you 
to-day,  from  which  I  learn  that  you  have  been  in^ ; 
formed  by  Lapo  and  Lodovico.  I  am  glad  that  you 
should  rebuke  me,  because  1  deserve  to  be  rebuked 
as  a  ne'er-do-well  and  sinner  as  much  as  any  one,  oi 
perhaps  more.  But  you  must  know  that  I  have  not 
been  guilty  in  the  aflfair  for  which  you  take  me  to 
task  now,  neither  as  regards  them  nor  any  one  else, 
except  it  be  in  doing  more  than  was  my  duty." 
After  this  exordium  he  proceeds  to  give  an  elabo- 

1  His  surname  was  Maufidi.  As  second  herald  of  the  Signory,  he 
took  part  in  the  debate  upon  the  placing  of  the  David.  See  above,  p.| 
94.  He  was  a  good  friend  of  Michelangelo's,  and  one  of  his  letters  is 
preserved  in  the  Archiv.  Buon.,  Cod.  ix.  No.  506. 

*  Lettere,  No.  iv.,  date  February  8,  1 507. 


LIFE   AT   BOLOGNA.  191 

■ate  explanation  of  his  dealings  with  Lapo,  and  the 
aan^s  roguery. 

The  correspondence  with  Buonarroto  turns  to  a 
ijonsiderable  extent  upon  a  sword-hilt  which  Michel- 
ingelo  designed  for  the  Florentine,  Pietro  Aldo- 
brandini/  It  was  the  custom  then  for  gentlemen  to 
carry  swords  and  daggers  with  hilt  and  scabbard  won- 
jderfully  wrought  by  first-rate  artists.  Some  of  these, 
istill  extant,  are  among  the  most  exquisite  specimens 
of  sixteenth-century  craft.^  This  little  affair  gave 
Michelangelo  considerable  trouble.  First  of  all,  the 
man  who  had  to  make  the  blade  was  long  about  it. 
From  the  day  when  the  Pope  came  to  Bologna,  he 
had  more  custom  than  all  the  smiths  in  the  city 
were  used  in  ordinary  times  to  deal  with.  Then, 
when  the  weapon  reached  Florence,  it  turned  out 
to  be  too  short.  Michelangelo  affirmed  that  he  had 
ordered  it  exactly  to  the  measure  sent,  adding  that 
Aldobrandini  was  **  probably  not  born  to  wear  a 
dagger  at  his  belt."  He  bade  his  brother  present 
it  to  Filippo  Strozzi,  as  a  compliment  from  the 
Buonarroti  family;  but  the  matter  was  bungled. 
Probably  Buonarroto  tried  to  get  some  valuable 
equivalent ;  for  Michelangelo  writes  to  say  that  he 
is  sorry  *'he  behaved  so  scurvily  toward  Filippo  in 
so  trifling  an  affair." 

Nothing  at  all  transpires  in  these  letters  regard- 

^  Lettere,  Nos.  xlviii.,  xlix.,  liv.,  Iv.,  Ivii.,  Iviii. 
^  See,  for  example,  the  illustrations  to  Yriarte's  Autour  des  Borgia 
Paris  :  Rothschild,  1891.     Troisi^me  Partie. 


192  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

ing  the  company  kept  by  Michelangelo  at  Bologna. 
The  few  stories  related  by  tradition  which  refer  tc 
this  period  are  not  much  to  the  sculptor's  credit  foi 
courtesy.^  The  painter  Francia,  for  instance,  came 
to  see  the  statue,  and  made  the  commonplace  remark 
that  he  thought  it  very  well  cast  and  of  excellent 
bronze.  Michelangelo  took  this  as  an  insult  to  his 
design,  and  replied :  "  I  owe  the  same  thanks  tc 
Pope  Julius  who  supplied  the  metal,  as  you  do  tc 
the  colourmen  who  sell  you  paints."  Then,  turning. 
to  some  gentlemen  present  there,  he  added  thal^ 
Francia  was  "  a  blockhead."  Francia  had  a  son  re 
markable  for  youthful  beauty.  When  Michelangelc 
first  saw  him  he  asked  whose  son  he  was,  and,  on 
being  informed,  uttered  this  caustic  compliment : ' 
**  Your  father  makes  handsomer  living  figures  thau 
he  paints  them."  On  some  other  occasion,  a  stupic 
Bolognese  gentleman  asked  whether  he  thoughi 
his  statue  or  a  pair  of  oxen  were  the  bigger. 
Michelangelo  replied  :  ^  "  That  is  according  to  the 
oxen.  If  Bolognese,  oh !  then  without  a  doubt 
ours  of  Florence  are  smaller."  Possibly  xllbrechl 
Diirer  may  have  met  him  in  the  artistic  circles  oj 
Bologna,   since   he   came   from   Venice   on   a  visil 

*  Vasari,  xii.  p.  i86. 

2  Compare  this  with  Benv.  da  Imola's  story  about  Giotto.  "  When 
Dante  saw  some  of  Giotto's  children,  very  ugly  and  like  their  father 
he  asked  how  it  was  that  he  painted  such  fair  figures  and  begat  sucl: 
foul  ones.  Giotto  smiled  and  answered  :  '  It  is  because  I  paint  by  day, 
and  make  models  of  living  men  by  night.' " 

'  The  point  seems  to  depend  upon  the  fact  that  bue  in  Italy  is  the  name 
for  a  dullard  or  a  cuckold. 


I 


THE   STATUE   OF  JULIUS.  193 

aring  these  years  ;  ^  but  nothing  is  known  about 
'leir  intercourse. 


TIL 

Julius  left  Bologna  on  the  2  2nd  of  February  1 507. 
lichelangelo  remained  working  diligently  at  his 
lodel.  In  less  than  three  months  it  was  nearly 
3ady  to  be  cast.  Accordingly,  the  sculptor,  who 
ad  no  practical  knowledge  of  bronze-founding,  sent 
)  Florence  for  a  man  distinguished  in  that  craft, 
laestro  dal  Ponte  of  Milan.  During  the  last  three 
ears  he  had  been  engaged  as  Master  of  the 
)rdnance  under  the  Republic.  His  leave  of  absence 
^as  signed  upon  the  15th  of  May  1507. 

Meanwhile  the  people  of  Bologna  were  already 
lanning  revolution.  The  Bentivogli  retained  a  firm 
ereditary  hold  on  their  affections,  and  the  govern- 
lent  of  priests  is  never  popular,  especially  among 
lie  nobles  of  a  state.  Michelangelo  writes  to  his 
rother  Giovan  Simone  (May  2)  describing  the 
ands  of  exiles  who  hovered  round  the  city  and 
ept  its  burghers  in  alarm  :^  "The  folk  are  stifling 
a  their  coats  of  mail ;  for  during  four  days  past 
he  whole  county  is  under  arms,  in  great  confusion 
nd  peril,  especially  the  party  of  the  Church."  The 
*apal  Legate,  Francesco  Alidosi,  Cardinal  of  Pavia, 


1  Grimm,  vol.  i.  p.  319.  '  Lettere,  No.  cxxvi. 


VOL.   I. 


N 


194  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

took  such  prompt  measures  that  the  attacking  troo 
were  driven  back.^  He  also  executed  some  of  t 
citizens  who  had  intrigued  with  the  exiled  famij 
The  summer  was  exceptionally  hot,  and  plag 
hung  about ;  all  articles  of  food  were  dear  and  ba 
Michelangelo  felt  miserable,  and  fretted  to  be  fre 
but  the  statue  kept  him  hard  at  work. 

When  the  time  drew  nigh  for  the  great  operatic 
he  wrote  in  touching  terms  to  Buonarroto :  ^  '*  T 
Lodovico  (their  father)  that  in  the  middle  of  ne 
month  I  hope  to  cast  my  figure  without  fail.  Thei 
fore,  if  he  wishes  to  offer  prayers  or  aught  ej 
for  its  good  success,  let  him  do  so  betimes,  a 
say  that  I  beg  this  of  him."  Nearly  the  whole 
June  elapsed,  and  the  business  still  dragged  (j. 
At  last,  upon  the  i  st  of  July,  he  advised  his  brot 
thus :  *  '*  We  have  cast  my  figure,  and  it  has  co] 
out  so  badly  that  I  verily  believe  I  shall  have 
do  it  all  over  again.  I  reserve  details,  for  I  h 
other  things  to  think  of.  Enough  that  it  has  gc[3 
wrong.     Still  I  thank  God,  because  I  take  eve 


1  This  man,  of  considerable  ability  but  bad  character,  abused 
confidence  of  Julius.  When  Bologna  broke  loose  from  the  Papal  j 
in  15 1 1,  the  calamity  was  ascribed,  apparently  with  justice,  to  his  tres  l 
and  incompetence.  The  Duke  Francesco  Maria  della  Rovere,  actin  I 
general  for  his  uncle  Julius,  stabbed  tlie  Cardinal  with  his  own  ha 
to  death  upon  the  open  street  of  Kaveniia.  This  happened  on  J 
24th  of  May — one  of  the  most  memorable  acts  of  violence  in  Ita  1 
Renaissance  annals.  A  good  account  of  the  whole  matter  is  givei 
Dennistoun's  "Dukes  of  Urbiuo,"  vol.  ii.  p.  314  et  seq. 

2  Lettere,  Nos.  Iv.,  Ixviii.,  Ixxiv. 

3  Lettere,  No.  Ix.,  date  May  26. 
*  Lettere,  Nos.  Ixii.,  Ixiii. 


« 


CASTING  OF   THE   STATUE.  195 

ling  for  the  best."  From  the  next  letter  we  learn 
I  at  only  the  lower  half  of  the  statue,  up  to  the 
rdle,  was  properly  cast.  The  metal  for  the  rest 
-smained  in  the  furnace,  probably  in  the  state  of 
hat  Cellini  called  a  cake.^  The  furnace  had  to 
3  pulled  down  and  rebuilt,  so  as  to  cast  the  upper 
df.  Michelangelo  adds  that  he  does  not  know 
hether  Master  Bernardino  mismanaged  the  matter 
cm  ignorance  or  bad  luck.  "  I  had  such  faith  in 
im  that  I  thought  he  could  have  cast  the  statue 
dthout  fire.  Nevertheless,  there  is  no  denying 
fiat  he  is  an  able  craftsman,  and  that  he  worked 
lith  good-will.  Well,  he  has  failed,  to  my  loss 
id  also  to  his  own,  seeing  he  gets  so  much  blame 
iiat  he  dares  not  lift  his  head  up  in  Bologna." 
ihe  second  casting  must  have  taken  place  about 
lie  8th  of  July;  for  on  the  loth  Michelangelo 
irites  that  it  is  done,  but  the  clay  is  too  hot  for 
lie  result  to  be  reported,  and  Bernardino  left 
i3sterday.^  When  the  statue  was  uncovered,  he 
!as  able  to  reassure  his  brother :  ^  "  My  affair 
light  have  turned  out  much  better,  and  also  much 
lorse.  At  all  events,  the  whole  is  there,  so  far  as 
I  can  see  ;  for  it  is  not  yet  quite  disengaged.  I 
iiall  want,  I  think,  some  months  to  work  it  up 
ith  file  and  hammer,  because  it  has  come  out 
■)ugh.  Well,  well,  there  is  much  to  thank  God 
)r;    as  I   said,   it    might  have  been   worse."     On 

I      1  Vita,  lib.  ii.  76.         2  Lettere,  No.  Ixiv. 
^  Lettere,  Nos.  Ixv.,  Ixvi. 


ig6 


LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 


making  further  discoveries,  he  finds  that  the  cast 
far  less  bad  than  he  expected  ;   but  the  labour 
cleaning  it  with  the  polishing  tools  proved  long! 
and    more    irksome    than   he    expected :  ^    "la 
exceedingly  anxious  to  get  away  home,  for  here 
pass  my  life  in  huge  discomfort  and  with  extrerl 
fatigue,      I  work  night  and  day,  do  nothing  elsj 
and  the  labour  I  am  forced  to  undergo  is  such,  tb| 
if  I  had  to  begin  the  whole  thing  over  again,  I 
not  think  I  could  survive   it.     Indeed,  the  undd 
taking  has   been   one  of  enormous   difficulty  ;    a;| 
if  it  had  been  in  the  hand  of  another  man, 
should  have  fared  but  ill  with  it.     However,  I  11 
lieve  that  the  prayers  of  some  one  have  sustaiDJ 
and  kept  me  in  health,  because  all  Bologna  thou{ 
I  should  never  bring  it  to  a  proper  end.*'    We  cBi 
see  that  Michelangelo  was  not  unpleased  with  1 
result ;  and  the  statue  must  have  been  finished  scj 
after  the  New  Year.     However,  he  could  not  led 
Bologna.     On  the  i8th  of  February  1508  he  wrii 
to  Buonarroto  that  he  is  kicking  his  heels,  havil 
received   orders  from   the  Pope   to    stay  until  l| 
bronze  was  placed.^    Three  days  later — that  is,  u] 
the    2 1st   of    February — the    Pope's    portrait    \| 
hoisted  to  its  pedestal  above  the  great  central  d<^ 
of  S.  Petronio. 

It  remained  there  rather  less  than  three  yej 
When  the  Papal  Legate  fled  from  Bologna  in  1 5| 

1  Lettere,  No.  Ixxii.,  date  November  10,  1507. 
'^  Lettere,  No.  Ixxv. 


FATE   OF   THE   STATUE.  197 

id  the  party  of  the  Bentivogli  gained  the  upper 

md,  they  threw   the   mighty  mass  of  sculptured 

:onze,  which  had  cost  its  maker  so  much  trouble, 

I  the   ground.     That    happened    on  the    30th   of 

ecember.     The   Bentivogli   sent   it   to   the  Duke 

Ifonso  d'Este  of  Ferrara,  who  was  a  famous  engi- 

eer  and  gunsmith.     He  kept  the  head  intact,  but 

|ist  a  huge  cannon  out  of  part  of  the  material, 

hich  took  the  name  of  La  Giulia.     What  became 

,f  the  head  is  unknown.     It  is  said  to  have  weighed 

■00  pounds.^ 

I  So  perished  another  of  Michelangelo's  master- 
ieces ;  and  all  we  know  for  certain  about  the 
i:atue  is  that  Julius  was  seated,  in  full  pontificals, 
|dth  the  triple  tiara  on  his  head,  raising  the  right 
land  to  bless,  and  holding  the  keys  of  S.  Peter  in 
le  left.' 
Michelangelo  reached  Florence  early  in  March. 
)n  the  1 8th  of  that  month  he  began  again  to  occupy 
is  house  at  Borgo  Pinti,  taking  it  this  time  on 
ire  from  the  Operai  del  Duomo.^  We  may  suppose, 
berefore,  that  he  intended  to  recommence  work  on 
he  Twelve  Apostles.  A  new  project  seems  also 
0  have  been  started  by  his  friend  Soderini — that 
f  making  him  erect  a  colossal  statue  of  Hercules 
ubduing  Cacus  opposite  the  David.  The  Gonfalonier 
ras  in  correspondence  with  the  Marquis  of  Carrara 

^  See  the  notices  collected  by  Gotti,  vol.  i.  p.  66. 

2  Gronaca  BolognesCy  MS.,  quoted  by  Milanesi ;  Vasari,  xii.  348, 

*  Gaye,  vol.  ii.  p.  477. 


198 


LIFE  OF   MICHELANGELO. 


on  the  loth  of  May  about  a  block  of  marble  fol 
this  giant ;  ^  but  Michelangelo  at  that  time  had  rel 
turned  to  Rome,  and  of  the  Cacus  we  shall  heaj 
more  hereafter. 


IV. 


When  Julius  received  news  that  his  statue  hai 
been  duly  cast  and  set  up  in  its  place  above  thj 
great  door  of  S.  Petronio,  he  began  to  be  anxioul 
to  have  Michelangelo  once  more  near  his  persor 
The  date  at  which  the  sculptor  left  Florence  agai: 
for  Kome  is  fixed  approximately  by  the  fact  thaj 
Lodovico  Buonarroti  emancipated  his  son  froi 
parental  control  upon  the  13th  of  March  1508 
According  to  Florentine  law,  Michelangelo  was  ncl 
of  age,  nor  master  over  his  property  and  persorj 
until  this  deed  had  been  executed.^ 

In  the  often-quoted  letter  to  Fattucci  he  says:u 
"  The  Pope  was  still  unwilling  that  I  should  comj 
plete  the  tomb,  and  ordered  me  to  paint  the  vaul 
of  the  Sistine.  We  agreed  for  3000  ducats.  Th 
first  design  I  made  for  this  work  had  twelve  apostle 
in  the  lunettes,  the  remainder  being  a  certain  spac 
filled  in  with  ornamental  details,  according  to  thj 

*  Gaye,  vol.  ii.  p.  97. 

2  It  was  registered  in  the  State  Archive  on  the  28th  of  Marcl 
Gotti,  vol.  i.  p.  70. 

3  Lettere,  No.  ccclxxxiii. 


THE   VAULT   OF   THE   SISTINE.  199 

ual  manner.     After  I  had    begun,   it   seemed  to 

b  that  this  would  turn  out  rather  meanly ;  and 
Itold  the  Pope  that  the  Apostles  alone  would  yield 
J  poor  effect,  in  my  opinion.  He  asked  me  why. 
!  answered,  *  Because  they  too  were  poor.'  Then 
h  gave  me  commission  to  do  what  I  liked  best, 
ad   promised  to   satisfy  my  claims  for  the  work, 

id  told  me  to  paint  down  to  the  pictured  histories 
pen  the  lower  row."  ^ 

There  is  little  doubt  that  Michelangelo  disliked 
sginning  this  new  work,  and  that  he  would  have 
ireatly  preferred  to  continue  the  sepulchral  monu- 
(lent,  for  which  he  had  made  such  vast  and  costly 
ireparations.  He  did  not  feel  certain  how  he 
tiould  succeed  in  fresco  on  a  large  scale,  not 
aving  had  any  practice  in  that  style  of  painting 
ince  he  was  a  prentice  under  Ghirlandajo.  It 
3  true  that  the  Cartoon  for  the  Battle  of  Pisa  had 
leen  a  splendid  success ;  still  this,  as  we  have  seen, 
7as  not  coloured,  but  executed  in  various  methods 
)f  outline  and  chiaroscuro.  Later  on,  while  seriously 
jngaged  upon  the  Sistine,  he  complains  to  his 
ather :  ^  "I  am  still  in  great  distress  of  mind, 
)ecause  it  is  now  a  year  since  I  had  a  farthing 
Vom  the  Pope ;  and  I  do  not  ask,  because  my  work 
s  not  going  forward  in  a  way  that  seems  to  me 
0  deserve  it.     That  comes  from  its  difficulty,  and 

*  Had  this  been  done,  he  would  have  obliterated  the  double  row  of 
Botticelli's  Popes. 
2  Lettere,  No.  x.,  date  January  27,  1509. 


i]iS 


il'm 


200  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

also  from  this  not  being   my  trade."  ^     And  so 
waste  my  time  without  results.     God  help  me." 

We  may  therefore  believe  Condivi  when  he  asse 
that  **  Michelangelo,  who  had  not  yet  practise 
colouring,  and  knew  that  the  painting  of  a  vau]ji|( 
is  very  difficult,  endeavoured  by  all  means  to  ge 
himself  excused,  putting  Kaffaello  forward  as  th 
proper  man,  and  pleading  that  this  was  not  hi 
trade,  and  that  he  should  not  succeed."  2  Condi\ 
states  in  the  same  chapter  that  Julius  had  bee 
prompted  to  intrust  him  with  the  Sistine  by  Bra 
mante,  who  was  jealous  of  his  great  abilities,  an 
hoped  he  might  fail  conspicuously  when  'le  lej 
the  field  of  sculpture.  I  have  given  my  reason 
above  for  doubting  the  accuracy  of  this  tradition 
and  what  we  have  just  read  of  Michelangelo's  ow: 
hesitation  confirms  the  statements  made  by  Bra 
mante  in  the  Pope's  presence,  as  recorded  b 
Rosselli.^  In  fact,  although  we  may  assume  th 
truth  of  Bramante's  hostility,  it  is  difficult  to  fori 
an  exact  conception  of  the  intrigues  he  carrie 
on  against  Buonarroti. 

Julius  would  not  listen  to  any  arguments.  Ac 
cordingly,  Michelangelo  made  up  his  mind  to  obe 
the  patron  whom  he  nicknamed  his  Medusa.  Bra 
mante  was  commissioned  to  erect  the  scafi*oldin§ 
which  he  did  so  clumsily,  with  beams  suspende 

1  Also  in  the  Sonnet  to  Giovanni  da  Pistoja  (Rime,  v.)  he  says  :  "  ^ 
io  pittore." 

2  Condivi,  p.  34.  *  See  above,  p.  176. 


PAINTERS   SUMMONED   FROM   FLORENCE.     201 

•om  the  vault  by  huge  cables,  that  Michelangelo 
sked  how  the  holes  in  the  roof  would  be  stopped 
p  when  his  painting  was  finished.  The  Pope  ' 
"llowed  him  to  take  down  Bramante's  machinery, 
'nd  to  raise  a  scaffold  after  his  own  design.  The 
ppe  alone  which  had  been  used,  and  now  was 
Vasted,  enabled  a  poor  carpenter  to  dower  his  /^^ 
laughter.^  Michelangelo  built  his  own  scaffold  free  x~^^ 
Tom  the  walls,  inventing  a  method  which  was  after- 
wards adopted  by  all  architects  for  vault-building, 
^erhaps  he  remembered  the  elaborate  drawing  he 
nee  made  of  Ghirlandajo's  assistants  at  work  upon 
he   ladders    and    wooden    platforms    at   S.    Maria 

^^ovella.  ^ 

— 7 

Knowing  that  he  should  need  helpers  in  so  great 

:n  undertaking,  and  also  mistrusting  his  own  ability    • 
0  work  in  fresco,  he  now  engaged  several  excel- 
ent  Florentine  painters.     Among  these,  says  Vasari, 
vere  his  friends  Francesco  Granacci  and  Giuliano    j 
'3ugiardini,  Bastiano  da  San  Gallo  surnamed  Aris- 
iQtele,  Angelo  di  Donnino,  Jacopo  di  Sandro,  and    j 
Facopo  surnamed  Tlndaco.     Vasari  is  probably  ac- 
curate in  his  statement  here  ;  for  we  shall  see  that 
Michelangelo,  in  his  Ricordi,  makes  mention  of  ^ye 
issistants,  two  of  whom  are  proved  by  other  docu- 
ments to  have  been  Granacci  and  Indaco.     We  also 


^  The  above  facts  about  the  scaffold  are  related  by  Vasari,  xii.  189. 
i  payment  for  rope  under  date  October  13,  1508,  has  been  recently 
idited  {Arch.  Stor.^  Ser.  terza,  vi.  187) ;  but  its  amount  does  not  seem 
.0  confirm  the  story  of  the  dowry. 


20^  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

possess  two  letters  from  Granacci  which  show  tha 
Bugiardini,  San  Gallo,  Angelo  di  Donnino,  ant 
Jacopo  rindaco  were  engaged  in  July/  Th 
second  of  Granacci's  letters  refers  to  certain  dis 
putes  and  hagglings  with  the  artists.  This  ma 
have  brought  Michelangelo  to  Florence,  for  he  wa 
there  upon  the  nth  of  August  1508,  as  appear 
from  the  following  deed  of  renunciation  :  "  In  th 
year  of  our  Lord  1508,  on  the  nth  day  of  Augusi 
Michelangelo,  son  of  Lodovico  di  Lionardo  di  Buoi] 
arrota,  repudiated  the  inheritance  of  his  uncle  Fran 
cesco  by  an  instrument  drawn  up  by  the  hand  c 
Ser  Giovanni  di  Guasparre  da  Montevarchi,  notar 
of  Florence,  on  the  27th  of  July  1508."^  Whe 
the  assistants  arrived  at  Rome  is  not  certain.  ] 
must,  however,  have  been  after  the  end  of  July 
The  extracts  from  Michelangelo's  notebooks  sho^j 
that  he  had  already  sketched  an  agreement  as  t 
wages  several  weeks  before.*  "  I  record  how  on  thi 
day,  the  loth  of  May  1508, 1,  Michelangelo,  sculpto 
have  received  from  the  Holiness  of  our  Lord  Pop 
Julius  II.  500  ducats  of  the  Camera,  the  which  wei 
paid  me  by  Messer  Carlino,  chamberlain,  and  Mess( 
Carlo  degli  Albizzi,  on  account  of  the  painting  ( 

1  These  letters,  dated  July  22  and  24,  at  Florence,  ai\  in  the  Arc 
Buon.,  and  are  translated  by  Heath  Wilson,  p.  125. 

2  Gotti,  i.  70,  note.  Heath  Wilson,  127,  note,  says  that  he  to( 
legal  opinion  as  to  whether  Michelangelo  must  have  been  at  Floren 
for  this  protocol,  and  was  informed  that  he  must. 

3  See  Letters  from  Granacci,  quoted  above. 
*  Lettere,  Ricordi,  p.  563. 


COMMENCEMENT  OE  THE  VAULT.  203 

vault  of  the  Sistine  Chapel,  on  which  I  beffin  to 
orkto-day,  under  the  conditions  and  contracts  set 
rth  in  a  document  written  by  his  Most  Eeverend 
lOrdship  of  Pavia,  and  signed  by  my  hand. 
*'  For  the  painter-assistants  who  are  to  come  from 
Florence,  who  will  be  five  in  number,  twenty  gold 
ucats  of  the  Camera  apiece,  on  this  condition ;  that 
to  say,  that  when  they  are  here  and  are  working 
n  harmony  with  me,  the  twenty  ducats  shall  be 
eckoned  to  each  man's  salary ;  the  said  salary  to 
)egin  upon  the  day  they  leave  Florence.  And  if 
hey  do  not  agree  with  me,  half  of  the  said  money 
hall  be  paid  them  for  their  travelling  expenses,  and 
or  their  time." 

On  the  strength  of  this  Ricordo,  it  has  been 
issumed  that  Michelangelo  actually  began  to  paint 
jhe  Sistine  on  the  loth  of  May  1508.  That  would 
lave  been  pjbj^gicallv  and  literally  impossible.  He 
)Vas  still  at  Florence,  agreeing  to  rent  his  house  in 
3orgo  Pinti,  upon  the  i8th  of  March.  Therefore  he 
|iad  no  idea  of  going  to  Rome  at  that  time.  When 
|ie  arrived  there,  negotiations  went  on,  as  we  have 
peen,  between  him  and  Pope  Julius.  One  plan  for 
;he   decoratioiujlLlhe    roof   was   abandoned,   and 

mmmmumm 


mother  on  a  grander  scale  had  to  be  ^signed.  To 
oroduce  working  Cartoons  for  that  immense  scheme 
jU  less  than  two  months  would  have  been  beyond 
':he  capacities  of  any  human  brain  and  hands.  But 
ihere  are  many  indications  that  the  vault  was  not 
epared^  J^^  and  the  materials  for  fresco 


wnnMi)i|ini|iiijmiB|l»UiMWmHI 


204  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

not  accumulated,  till  a  much  later  date.  For  irf 
stance,  we  possess  a  series  of  receipts  by  Piero  Eoj 
selli,  acknowledging  several  disbursements  for  th 
plastering  of  the  roof  between  May  1 1  and  Jul 
2"]}  We  learn  from  one  of  these  that  Granac( 
was  in  Rome  before  June  3  ;  and  Michelangel 
writes  for  fine  blue  colours  to  a  certain  Fra  Jacop 
Gesuato  at  Florence  upon  the  1 3th  of  May.^  All  i 
clearly  in  the  air  as  yet,  and  on  the  point  of  pr( 
paration.  Michelangelo's  phrase,  "  on  which  I  begi 
to  work  to-day,'*  will  have  to  be  interpreted,  there 
fore,  in  the  widest  sense,  as  implying  that  he  we 
engaging  assistants,  getting  the  architectural  four 
dation  ready,   and  procuring   a   stock  of  necessai 

1    articles.     The  whole  summer  and  autumn  must  ha\j 

I    been  spent  in  taking  measurements  and  expandim! 

^  the  elaborate  design  to  the  proper  scale  of  workin 
drawings ;  and  if  Michelangelo  had  toiled  alor 
without  his  Florentine  helpers,  it  would  have  bee 
impossible  for  him  to  have  got  through  with  thes 
preliminary  labours  in  so  short  a  space  of  time. 

(T"  Michelangelo's  method  in  preparing  his  Cartooi 
seems  to  have  been  the  following.  He  first  made 
small-scale  sketch  of  the  composition,  sometimes  ii 
eluding  a  large  variety  of  figures.  Then  he  went 
the  living  models,  and  studied  portions  of  the  who 
design  in  careful  transcripts  from  Nature,  usir 
black  and  red  chalk,  pen,  and  sometimes  bistr 
Among  the  most  admirable  of  his  drawings  left 

1  Lettere,  p.  563.  ^  Lettere,  No.  cccxUv, 


PREPARATION   OF   CARTOONS.  205 

IS  are  several  which  were  clearly  executed  with  a 
riew  to  one  or  other  of  these  great  Cartoons.  Finally, 
eturning  to  the  first  composition,  he  repeated  that, 
)r  so  much  of  it  as  could  be  transferred  to  a  single 
sheet,  on  the  exact  scale  of  the  intended  fresco. 
I  These  enlarged  drawings  were  applied  to  the  wet 
)[  surface  of  the  plaster,  and  their  outlines  pricked  in 

I  f>vith  dots  to  guide  the  painter  in  his  brush-work^ 

II  VVTien  we  reflect  upon  the  extent  of  the  Sis  tine  vault 
yljt  is  estimated  at  morejthaii   i^^WO  s(^uar^ 

I  (surface);  and  the  difficulties  presented  by  its  curves, 
fi  iunettes,  spandrels,  and  pendentives  ;  when  we  re- 

I  imember  that  this  enormous  space  is  alive  with  343 
31  figures  in  every  conceivable  attitude,  some  of  them 

II  twelve  feet  in  height,  those  seated  as  prophets  and 
i  isibyls  measuring  nearly  eighteen  feet  when  upright, 
jpU  animated  with  extraordinary  vigour,  presenting 
II  itypes  of  the  utmost  variety  and  vivid  beauty,  imagi- 
nnation  quails  before  the  intellectual  energy  which 
isjcould  first  conceive  a  scheme  so  complex,  and  then 

carry   it    out   with    mathematical    precision    in    its    ; 
ijminutest  details.^  _  J 

jj     The  date  on  which  Michelangelo  actually  began 

I  ^  A  very  full  account  of  the  measurements  of  the  Sistine  and  of 
{[Michelangelo's  method  is  given  by  Heath  Wilson,  chap.  vi.  In  some 
n  respects  it  forms  the  most  valuable  part  of  that  excellent  and  hitherto 

I  by  far  too  much  neglected  work.  Heath  Wilson  enjoyed  the  singular 
i  I  privilege  of  making  a  close  examination  of  the  roof ;  and  what  he  says 
I  j  about  the  execution  of  the  frescoes  and  their  present  state  deserves  to 

:  be  most  attentively  studied.  He  has  dispelled  many  illusions ;  as, 
' '  for  instance,  the  old  tradition  that  Michelangelo  worked  in  absolute 
isolation. 


2o6  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

to  paint  the  fresco  is  not  certain.  Supposing  1 
worked  hard  all  the  summer,  he  might  have  doi 
so  when  his  Florentine  assistants  arrived  in  Angus 
and,  assuming  that  the  letter  to  his  father  abo^ 
quoted  (Lettere,  x.)  bears  a  right  date,  he  mu 
have  been  in  full  swing  before  the  end  of  Janua 
1509.  In  that  letter  he  mentions  that  Jacop 
probably  Tlndaco,  "  the  painter  whom  I  broug] 
from  Florence,  returned  a  few  days  ago ;  and  as  1 
complained  about  me  here  in  Rome,  it  is  like 
that  he  will  do  so  there.  Turn  a  deaf  ear  to  hin 
he  is  a  thousandfold  in  the  wrong,  and  I  could  s{ 
much  about  his  bad  behaviour  toward  me."  Vasa 
U/ informs  us  that  these  assistants  proved  of  no  us( 
whereupon,  he  destroyed  all  they  had  begun  to  d 
refused  to  see  them,  locked  himself  up  in  the  chape 
and  determined  to  complete  the  work  in  solitude 
It  seems  certain  that  the  painters  were  sent  bac 
to  Florence.  Michelangelo  had  already  provided  £ 
the  possibility  of  their  not  being  able  to  co-opera 
with  him ;  2  but  what  the  cause  of  their  failure  wj 
we  can  only  conjecture.  Trained  in  the  metho( 
of  the  old  Florentine  school  of  fresco-painting,  ii 
capable  of  entering  into  the  spirit  of  a  style  i 
supereminently  noble  and  so  astoundingly  origin 
as  Michelangelo^s,  it  is  probable  that  they  spoih 
his  designs  in  their  attempts  to  colour  them.  Ha 
ford  pithily  remarks:^  *'As  none  of  the  suitors 

^  Vasari,  xii.  190.  ^  See  Bicordo  quoted  above,  p.  203. 

^  Harford,  voL  i.  p.  259. 


TROUBLES   WITH   ASSISTANTS.  207 

'enelope  could  bend  the  bow  of  Ulysses,  so  one 
and  alone  was  capable  of  wielding  the  pencil  of 
!  j5uonarroti."  Still  it  must  not  be  imagined  that 
p  iiichelangelo  ground  his  own  colours,  prepared  his 
1  laily  measure  of  wet  plaster,  and  executed  the  whole  k 
iferies  of  frescoes  with  his  own  hand.  Condivi  and 
I  f/'asari  imply,  indeed,  that  this  was  the  case  ;  but, 
hbeside  the  physical  impossibility,  the  fact  remains 
Ihat  certain  portions  are  obviously  executed  by  inferior 
Inasters.^  Vasari's  anecdotes,  moreover,  contradict  his 
!)wn  assertion  regarding  Michelangelo's  single-handed 
[abour.  He  speaks  about  the  caution  which  the 
master  exercised  to  guard  himself  against  any  treason 
i)f  his  workmen  in  the  chapel. 2  Nevertheless,  far  the 
larger  part,  including  all  the  most  important  figures, 
and  especially  the  nudes,  belongs  to  Michelangelo. 
!  These  troubles  with  his  assistants  illustrate  a 
point  upon  which  I  shall  have  to  offer  some  con- 
siderations at  a  future  time.  I  allude  to  Michel- 
langelo's  inaptitude  for  forming  a  school  of  intelli- 
gent fellow-workers,  for  fashioning  inferior  natures 
iinto  at  least  a  sympathy  with  his  aims  and  methods, 
and  finally  for  living  long  on  good  terms  with  hired 
subordinates.  All  those  qualities  which  the  facile 
and  genial  Eaffaello  possessed  in  such  abundance, 
and  which  made  it  possible  for  that  young  favourite 
of  heaven  and  fortune  to  fill  Eome  with  so  much 
work  of  mixed  merit,  were  wanting  to  the  stern, 
exacting,  and  sensitive  Buonarroti. 

^  See  Heath  Wilson,  p.  155.  ^  Vasari,  xii.  185. 


2o8  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

But  the  assistants  were  not  the  only  hindran 
to  Michelangelo  at  the  outset.  Condivi  says  tha 
**he  had  hardly  begun  painting,  and  had  finishli 
the  picture  of  the  Deluge,  when  the  work  begj 
to  throw  out  mould  to  such  an  extent  that  tl 
figures  could  hardly  be  seen  through  it.  Miche 
angelo  thought  that  this  excuse  might  be  sufficie 
to  get  him  relieved  of  the  whole  job.  So  he  we 
to  the  Pope  and  said :  *  I  already  told  your  Holine 
that  painting  is  not  my  trade  ;  what  I  have  do] 
is  spoiled  ;  if  you  do  not  believe  it,  send  to  se 
The  Pope  sent  San  Gallo,  who,  after  inspecting  tl 
fresco,  pronounced  that  the  lime-basis  had  been  p 
on  too  wet,  and  that  water  oozing  out  product 
this  mouldy  surface.^  He  told  Michelangelo  wh 
the  cause  was,  and  bade  him  proceed  with  the  wor 
So  the  excuse  helped  him  nothing."  About  t 
fresco  of  the  Deluge  Vasari  relates  that,  haviij 
begun  to  paint  this  compartment  first,  he  notic( 
that  the  figures  were  too  crowded,  and  consequent 
changed  his  scale  in  all  the  other  portions  of  t 
ceiling.  This  is  a  plausible  explanation  of  wh 
is  striking — namely,  that  the  story  of  the  Delu; 
is  quite  differently  planned  from  the  other  episod 
upon  the  vaulting.  Yet  I  think  it  must  be  rejecte 
because  it  implies  a  total  change  in  all  the  workiij; 
cartoons,  as  well  as  a  remarkable  want  of  foresight 

1  Condivi,  p.  39. 

2  Heath  Wilson  (p.  141)  says  the  plaster  was  made  of  Roman  11 
and  marble  dust. 


> 

a 
n 
n 

VI 

It- 
o 

(0 

O 
►-^ 

O 

cr 
D- 


Ancestors  of  Christ 


Zachariah 


The  Drunkenness 
of  Noah 


The   Deluge 


prythraean 
Sibyl 


Noah's  Sacrifice 


The  fall  of  Adam  &  Eve 
their  expulsion  from  Paradise 


5  Ezechiel 


The  Creation  of  Eve 


Cumaean 
Sibyl 


The  Creation  of  Adam 


Persian 
Sibyl 


The  Spirit  of  God 
upon  the  Waters 


Daniel 


The  Creation  of  Sun,  Moon 
vegetation  on  the  Earth 


I  Jeremiah 


Division  of 
Light  from  Darkness 


Jonah 


The  Last  Judgment 


en 
*C 

U 


in 
u 
O 

(A 

0) 

u 

c 

<: 


y^ 


/ 


Plan  showing  the  Scheme  fob  Painting  the  Vault 

OP   THE   SiSTINE   ChAPEL. 


p 


FIRST   HALF   OF   THE   VAULT   FINISHED.     209 


Condivi  continues :  "  While  he  was  painting, 
ope  Julius  used  oftentimes  to  go  and  see  the 
ork,  climbing  by  a  ladder,  while  Michelangelo 
ive  him  a  hand  to  help  him  on  to  the  platform. 
!is  nature  being  eager  and  impatient  of  delay, 
3  decided  to  have  the  roof  uncovered,  although 
[ichelangelo  had  not  given  the  last  touches,  and 
a,d  only  completed  the  first  half — that  is,  from  the 
Dor  to  the  middle  of  the  vault."  Michelangelo's 
tters  show  that  the  first  part  of  his  work  was  exe- 
ited  in  October.  He  writes  thus  to  his  brother 
uonarroto  :  ^  "  I  am  remaining  here  as  usual,  and 
jiall  have  finished  my  painting  by  the  end  of  the 
leek  after  next — that  is,  the  portion  of  it  which  I 
egan ;  and  when  it  is  uncovered,  I  expect  to  be 
aid,  and  shall  also  try  to  get  a  month's  leave  to 
isit  Florence." 


V.  /  i4 


I  The  uncovering  took  place  upon  November  i, 
■509.  All  Eome  flocked  to  the  chapel,  feeling  that 
omething  stupendous  was  to  be  expected  after  the 
mg  months  of  solitude  and  seclusion  during  which 
!ie  silent  master  had  been  working.  Nor  were 
'ley  disappointed.  The  effect  produced  by  only 
alf  of  the    enormous    scheme   was    overwhelming. 

'  1  Lettere,  No.  Ixxxi.  ; 

VOL.  I.  A  w^     ^ 


2IO  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

As  Vasari  says/  "This  chapel  lighted  up  a  lai 
for  our  art  which  casts  abroad  lustre  enough 
illuminate  the  world,  drowned  for  so  many  centun 
in  darkness.*'  /^Painters  saw  at  a  glance  that  t 
genius  which  nad  revolutionised  sculpture  was  n 
destined  to  introduce  a  new  style  and  spirit  ill 
their  art.  This  was  the  case  even  with  Raffaell 
who,  in  the  frescoes  he  executed  at  S.  Maria  d 
Pace,  showed  his  immediate  willingness  to  let 
from  Michelangelo,  and  his  determination  to  comp 
with  him.  Condivi  and  Vasari  are  agreed  up 
this  point,  and  Michelangelo  himself,  in  a  mom([t 
of  hasty  indignation,  asserted  many  years  afterwa: 
that  what  E-affaello  knew  of  art  was  derived  fn 
him.^  That  is,  of  course,  an  over-statement ;  i 
beside  his  own  exquisite  originality,  E-affae 
formed  a  composite  style  successively  upon  Perugi: 
Fra  Bartolommeo,  and  Lionardo.  He  was  capa, 
not  merely  of  imitating,  but  of  absorbing  and  assi 
lating  to  his  lucid  genius  the  excellent  qualities 
all  in  whom  he  recognised  superior  talent.  At  1[3 
same  time,  Michelangelo's  influence  was  undenial 
and  we  cannot  ignore  the  testimony  of  those  t\ 
conversed  with  both  great  artists — of  Julius  hims( 
for  instance,  when  he  said  to  Sebastian  del  Piomb( 
**  Look  at  the  work  of  Raffaello,  who,  after  seei 
the  masterpieces  of  Michelangelo,  immediately  abt 

*  Vasari,  xii.  193.  2  Lettere,  No,  cdxxxv. 

3  See  Sebastiano  del  Piombo's  letter  of  October  15,  15 12,  printec 
Gaye,  vol.  ii.  p.  487. 


WHAT   THE   FIRST   HALF   WAS.  211 

li  oned  Perugino's  manner,  and  did  his  utmost  to 
:!i  pproach  that  of  Buonarroti." 

11  Condivi's  assertion  that  the  part  uncovered  in 
i  [ovember  1 509  was  the  first  half  of  the  whole  vault, 
I  eginning  from  the  door  and  ending  in  the  middle, 
I  lisled  Vasari,  and  Vasari  misled  subsequent  bio- 
i  raphers.  We  now  know  for  certain  that  what 
li  lichelangelo  meant  by  "  the  portion  I  began  "  was 
f  lie  whole  central  space  of  the  ceiling — that  is  to 
f  ,ay,  the  nine  compositions  from  Genesis,  with  their 
I  accompanying  genii  and  architectural  surroundings. 
K  |?hat  is  rendered  clear  by  a  statement  in  Albertini's 
filoman  Handbook,  to  the  effect  that  the  *' upper 
1  )ortion  of  the  whole  vaulted  roof"  had  been  un- 
I  |;overed  when  he  saw  it  in  1 509.^  Having  established 
[ihis  error  in  Condivi's  narrative,  what  he  proceeds 
ilo  relate  may  obtain  some  credence.  "Raffaello, 
ifvhen  he  beheld  the  new  and  marvellous  style  of 
i.V[ichelangelo*s  work,  being  extraordinarily  apt  at 
imitation,  sought,  by  Bramante's  means,  to  obtain 
^  commission  for  the  rest."  Had  Michelangelo 
bnded  at  a  line  drawn  halfway  across  the  breadth 
pi  the  vault,  leaving  the  Prophets  and  Sibyls,  the 
jlunettes  and  pendentives,  all  finished  so  far,  it  would 
ihave  been  a  piece  of  monstrous  impudence  even  in 
jBramante,  and  an  impossible  discourtesy  in  gentle 
jRaffaello,  to  have  begged  for  leave  to  carry  on  a 
scheme  so  marvellously  planned.     But  the  history 

I  1  Albertini,  Mirabilia  Urbis^  quoted  by  Grimm,  vol.  i.  p.  523. 
Albertini's  own  words  are  ;pars  testudinea  su^perior. 


212  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

of  the  Creation,  Fall,  and  Deluge,  when  first  expose<| 
looked  like  a  work  complete  in  itself.    Michelangel 
who  was  notoriously  secretive,  had  almost  certain] 
not  explained  his  whole  design  to  painters  of  Bri 
mantels  following ;    and  it  is  also  improbable  th 
he  had  as  yet  prepared  his  working  Cartoons  f<| 
the  lower  and  larger  portion  of  the  vault.^     Accori 
ingly,  there  remained  a  large  vacant  space  to  cov 
between  the  older  frescoes  by  Signorelli,  Perugin 
Botticelli,  and  other  painters,  round  the  walls  belo| 
the  windows,  and  that  new  miracle  suspended  in  t 
air.    There  was  no  flagrant  impropriety  in  Bramant 
thinking   that   his   nephew   might    be    allowed 
carry  the  work  downward  from  that  altitude.      T 
suggestion  may  have  been  that  the  Sistine  Chad 
should  become  a  Museum  of  Italian  art,  where  d 
painters  of  eminence  could  deposit  proofs  of  the 
ability,  until  each  square  foot  of  wall  was  coverc; 
with  competing   masterpieces.      But  when  Miche 
angelo  heard  of  Bramante's  intrigues,  he  was  great 
disturbed  in  spirit.     Having  begun  his  task  unwi' 
ingly,  he  now  felt  an  equal  or  greater  unwillingne 
to  leave   the    stupendous    conception    of  his   bra 
unfinished.     Against  all  expectation  of  himself  ai^i 
others,  he  had  achieved  a  decisive  victory,  and  w 
placed  at  one  stroke,  as  Condivi  says,  "above  tl 
reach  of  envy."     His  hand  had  found  its  cunnir 


1  It  may  be  inferred,  I  think,  from  a  passage  in  Lettere,  No.  ccclxxxi 
that  Michelangelo  only  began  the  Cartoons  for  the  second  portion 
the  Sistine  in  1510. 


» 


BRAMANTE'S   INTRIGUES.  213 

)r  fresco  as  for  marble.     Why  should  he  be  inter- 

ipted    in    the    full    swing    of  triumphant   energy  1 

Accordingly,    he    sought    an    audience    with    the 

ope,  and  openly  laid  bare  all  the  persecutions  he 

ad   suffered   from   Bramante,    and    discovered   the 

umerous  misdoings  of  the  man."     It  was  on  this 

ccasion,   according  to   Condivi,  that  Michelangelo 

xposed  Bramante's   scamped  work  and   vandalism 

t  S.  Peter's.     Julius,   who  was  perhaps  the   only 

lan  in  Rome  acquainted  with  his  sculptor's  scheme 

)r  the  Sistine  vault,  brushed  the  cobwebs  of  these 

etty  intrigues  aside,  and  left  the  execution  of  the 

[hole  to  Michelangelo. 

There  is  something  ignoble  in  the  task  of  record- 

"ig  rivalries  and  jealousies  between  artists  and  men 

f  letters.?  Genius,   however,   like    all  things  that 

re  merely  t)urs  and  mortal,  shuffles  along  the  path 

f  life,  half  flying  on  the  wings  of  inspiration,  half 

'  obblinff  on  the  feet  of  interest,  the  crutches  of  com- 

li  .    . 

„  lissions.    Michelangelo,  although  he  made  the  David 

nd  the  Sistine,  had  also  to  make  money.     He  was 

ntangled  with  shrewd  men  of  business,  and  crafty 

pendthrifts,   ambitious    intriguers,    folk   who    used 

ndoubted  talents,  each  in  its  kind  excellent  and 

ure,  for  baser  purposes  of  gain  or  getting  on.     The 

,rt-life  of  Rome   seethed  wdth   such   blood-poison ; 

^'nd  it  would  be  sentimental  to  neglect  what  entered 

{jO  deeply  and  so  painfully  into  the  daily  experience 

If  our  hero.     Raffaello,  kneaded  of  softer  and  more 

licile  clay  than  Michelangelo,  throve  in  this  environ- 


214  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

ment,  and  was  somehow  able — so  it  seems — to  tur 
its  venom  to  sweet  uses.  I  like  to  think  of  the  tw( 
peers,  moving  like  stars  on  widely  separated  orbits 
with  radically  diverse  temperaments,  proclivities,  ani 
habits,  through  the  turbid  atmosphere  envelopin|i 
but  not  obscuring  their  lucidity.  Each,  in  his  owil 
way,  as  it  seems  to  me,  contrived  to  keep  himsel 
unspotted  by  the  world  ;  and  if  they  did  not  underl 
stand  one  another  and  make  friends,  this  was  due  t(! 
the  different  conceptions  they  were  framed  to  tak 
of  life,  the  one  being  the  exact  antipodes  to  th 
other.  •^ 


VI. 

Postponing  descriptive  or  sesthetic  criticism  of  th 
Sistine  frescoes,  I  shall  proceed  with  the  narratioi 
of  their  gradual  completion. 

We  have  few  documents  to  guide  us  throug 
the  period  of  time  which  elapsed  between  the  firs 

1  Kaffaello  ardently  loved  women.  Michelangelo,  so  far  as  we  kno\ 
was  insensible  to  their  attraction.  Raffaello  enjoyed  society,  and  too 
innocent  pleasure  in  personal  magnificence.  Michelangelo  preferre 
solitude,  and  lived  sordidly.  Raffaello  burned  out  in  a  few  brilliai 
years,  dying  at  the  age  of  Byion  and  Mozart.  Michelangelo  grew  i 
be  a  tough  old  man  of  nearly  ninety,  preserving  the  fire  of  his  temper 
ment  to  the  end.  Raffaello  sunned  himself  in  the  gladness  of  existenc 
Michelangelo  walked  in  the  shade.  The  one  was  genial  and  Lehei 
lustig  ;  the  other,  melancholic  and  surcharged  with  Innigkeit.  Raffael 
revelled  in  the  facile  and  sensuous  extern alisation  of  ideas.  Miche 
angelo  grappled  with  intensest  problems  both  of  thought  and  plast 
presentation. 


THE  SECOND   HALF   OF  THE  VAULT.        215 

covering  of  Michelangelo's  work  on  the  roof  of  the 
stine  (November  i,  1509)  and  its  ultimate  accom- 
ishment  (October  1 5 1 2 ).    His  domestic  correspond- 
ce  is  abundant,  and  will  be   used  in  its  proper 
ace ;  but  nothing  transpires  from  those  pages  of 
ffection,  anger,  and  financial  negotiation  to  throw 
ght  upon  the  working  of  the  master's  mind  while 
e  was  busied  in  creating  the  sibyls  and  prophets, 
le  episodes  and  idyls,  which  carried  his  great  Bible 
if  the  Fate  of  Man  downwards  through  the  vaulting 
0  a  point  at  which  the  Last  Judgment  had  to  be 
resented  as  a  crowning  climax.     For  the  anxious 
tudent  of  his  mind  and  life-work,  nothing  is  more 
lesolating  than  the  impassive  silence  he  maintains 
bout  his  doings  as  an  artist.     He  might  have  told 
is  all  we  want  to  know,  and  never  shall  know  here 
iibout  them.     But  while  he  revealed  his  personal 
.emperament  and  his  passions  with  singular  frank- 
less,  he  locked  up  the  secret  of  his  art,  and  said 
jiothing.   / 
^Eventually  we  must  endeavour  to  grasp  Michel- 
iti'gelo's  work  in  the  Sistine  as  a  whole,  although  it 
Was  carried  out  at  distant  epochs  of  his  life.     For 
this  reason  I  have  thrown  these  sentences  forward, 
'in   order   to    embrace    a  wide  span  of  his  artistic 
:energy  (from  May   10,    1508,  to  perhaps  December 
1 541).     There  is,  to  my  mind,  a  unity  of  concep- 
tion between  the  history  depicted  on  the  vault,  the 
prophets   and  forecomers   on   the   pendentives,   the 
types  selected  for  the  spandrels,  and  the  final  spec- 


^i6  LIFE  OF   MICHELANGELO. 

t- — ■"' 

tacle  of  the  day  of  doom.     Living,  as  he  needs  mi 
do,  under  the  category  of  time,  Michelangelo 
unable   to  execute  his   stupendous  picture-book 
human    destiny   in    one    sustained   manner.     Yeal 
passed   over  him    of  thwarted   endeavour  and  dii 
tracted  energies — years  of  quarrying  and  sculptu] 
ing,   of  engineering   and    obeying  the    vagaries 
successive  Popes.     Therefore,  vrhen  he  came  at  la! 
to  paint  the  Last  Judgment,  he  was  a  worn  maj 
exhausted  in   services  of  many  divers  sorts.     Ai 
what  is  most  perplexing  to  the  reconstructive  critij 
nothing  in  his  correspondence  remains  to  indica 
the    stages  of  his   labour.     The  letters  tell  plenj 
about  domestic  anxieties,   annoyances  in  his   po 
craftsman's  household,  purchases  of  farms,  indigna;j 
remonstrances  wiih  stupid  brethren  ;  but  we  find 
them,  as  I  have  said,  no  clue  to  guide  us  throu§L 
that  mental  labyrinth  in  which  the  supreme  artif 
was   continually  walking,  and  at  the  end  of  whi< 
he  left  to  us  the  Sistine  as  it  now  is. 


VIL 

The  old  reckoning  of  the  time  consumed  I 
Michelangelo  in  painting  the  roof  of  the  Sistin 
and  the  traditions  concerning  his  mode  of  woi 
there,  are  clearly  fabulous.  Condivi  says:  "B 
finished  the  whole  in  twenty  months,  without  ha^ 


y 


TIME  SPENT   ON   THE  VAULT.  217 

ig  any  assistance  whatsoever,  not  even  of  a  man  to 
rind  his  colours."    From  a  letter  of  September  7, 
510,  we   learn  that  the  scaflFolding  was  going  to 
put  up  again,  and  that  he  was  preparing  to  work 
3on    the  lower  portion   of  the   vaulting.^     Nearly 
vo  years  elapse  before  we  hear  of  it  again.     He 
rites  to  Buonarroto  on  the  24th  of  July  1512:^  "1 
n  suffering  greater  hardships  than  ever  man  en- 
ured,  ill,  and   with  overwhelming  labour;   still  I 
lit  up  with  all  in  order  to  reach  the  desired  end.'' 
nother  letter  on  the  21st  of  August  shows  that 
expects    to   complete    his   work    at   the   end   of 
'leptember ;   and  at  last,   in   October,   he  writes  to 
«tis   father:^    *M   have    finished   the    chapel   J  was 
minting.     The   Pope    is    very  well    satisfied."     On 
lie  calculation  that  he  began  the  first  part  on  May 
ib,  1508,  and  finished  the  whole  in  October  15 12, 
ii  bur  years  and  a  half  were  employed  upon  the  work. 
.  considerable  part  of  this  time  was  of  course  taken 
p  with  the  preparation  of  Cartoons  ;  and  the  nature 
P  fresco-painting  rendered  the  winter  months  not 
Lways  fit  for  active  labour.     The  climate  of  Eome 
not  so  mild  but  that  wet  plaster  might  often  freeze 
cid  crack  during  December,  January,  and  February, 
esides,  with  all  his   superhuman  energy,  Michel- 
iQgelo    could  not   have    painted    straight   on  daily 
jithout   rest    or    stop.       It    seems,    too,    that    the 


^  Lettere,  No.  xxi.  2  Lettere,  No.  Ixxxvii. 

^  Lettere,  Nos.  Ixxxix.,  xv.     Milanesi  dates  the  second  in  1509,  but 

i  is  wrong,  I  think. 


2l8 


LIFE  OF   MICHELANGELO. 


master  was  often  in  need  of  money,  and  that  h 
made  two  journeys  to  the  Pope  to  beg  for  supplier 
In  the   letter  to   Fattucci    he   says :  ^  "  When  th 
vault  was  nearly  finished,  the   Pope  was   again  a| 
Bologna ;  ^   whereupon,    I   went    twice   to    get   th 
necessary  funds,  and  obtained  nothing,  and  lost  a 
that  time  until  I  came  back  to  Eome.     When 
reached   Rome,    I   began   to   make   Cartoons — th?| 
is,    for  the    ends    and    sides    of   the    said    chapei 
hoping  to  get  money  at  last  and  to  complete  t 
work.    I  never  could  extract  a  farthing ;  and  when 
complained  one  day  to  Messer  Bernardo  da  Bibbie 
and  to  Atalante,^  representing  that  I  could  not  st 
longer  in  Eome,   and  that  I  should   be  forced  1 
go  away  with   God's  grace,   Messer  Bernardo  to 
Atalante  he    must  bear  this   in  mind,  for  that  I 
wished   me   to   have  money,   whatever   happened 
When   we    consider,  *  then,    the    magnitude   of  t' 
undertaking,  the  arduous  nature  of  the  preparato 

1  Lettere,  No,  ccclxxxiii. 

2  The  date  of  one  of  these  visits,  which  may  have  taken  Michelangt 
as  far  as  the  Pope's  camp  before  Mirandola,  is  fixed  by  a  letter 
.January  ii,  151 1,  to  Buonarroto  (Lettere,  No.  Ixxxiv.).     The  date  1 
the  other  is  uncertain.     See  Grimm,  vol.  i.  p.  389.     Among  the  f 
documents  which  throw  light  upon  Michelangelo's  movements  at  t 
period  is  an  inedited  letter  from   Agnolo  Manfido,   State-herald 
Florence,  to  the  sculptor  in  Eome,  dated  November  2,  15 10,  and 
pressing  pleasure  at  hearing  the  news  of  his  safe  arrival.     Arch.  Bu( 
Cod.  ix.  No.  506. 

2  Bibbiena  is  the  Cardinal  Dovizi,  and  famous  author  of  • 
Calandra.  Atalante  was  a  natural  son  of  Manetto  Migliorotti 
Florentine,  who  learned  to  play  on  the  lute  from  Lionardo  da  Vii 
He  occupied  a  post  in  the  Fabric  of  S.  Peter's  between  15 13  and  15 
See  Milanesi,  Lettere,  p.  428,  note. 


THE  FRESCOES   LEFT   UNFINISHED.  219 

udies,   and  the   waste    of  time    in  journeys    and 

Lrough  other  hindrances,  four  and  a  half  years  are 

3t  too  long  a  period  for  a  man  working  so  much 

one  as  Michelangelo  was  wont  to  do. 

We  have  reason   to    believe   that,    after   all,   the 

escoes  of  the  Sistine  were  not  finished  in  their 

3tails.      "It   is   true,"    continues    Condivi,    "that 

have  heard  him  say  he  was  not  suffered  to  com- 

ete  the  work  according  to  his  wish.     The  Pope, 

L  his  impatience,    asked    him    one    day   when    he 

ould  be  ready  with  the  Chapel,  and  he  answered  : 

When  I  shall  be  able.*     To  which  his  Holiness 

3plied   in  a  rage :   *  You  want   to  make  me  hurl 

on  from  that  scafi'old ! '     Michelangelo  heard  and 

3membered,  muttering :    *  That   you   shall   not  do 

D  me.'     So  he  went  straightway,  and  had  the  scaf- 

olding  taken  down.     The  frescoes  were  exposed  to 

iiew  on  All  Saints'  day,^  to  the  great  satisfaction 

f  the  Pope,  who  went  that  day  to  service  there, 

s^hile  all  Eome  flocked  together  to  admire  them. 

,'Vhat  Michelangelo  felt  forced  to  leave  undone  was 

•he   retouching   of  certain   parts   with   ultramarine 

ipon  dry  ground,  and  also  some  gilding,  to  give  the 

ivhole  a  richer  effect.     Giulio,  when  his  heat  cooled 

iown,    wanted    Michelangelo    to    make    these    last 

tdditions ;     but    he,    considering    the    trouble    it 

^ould  be  to   build  up  all  that   scaffolding  afresh, 

observed   that   what   was    missing    mattered   little. 

^  Condivi  is  here,  as  elsewhere,  mixing  up  the  first  with  the  second 
:)ortion  of  the  work. 


2  20  LIFE  OF  MICHELANGELO, 

'  You    ought   at   least   to  touch   it   up  with    gold 
replied   the    Pope ;    and    Michelangelo,    with    th 
familiarity  he  used  toward  his  Holiness,  said  carj 
lessly :  *  I  have  not  observed  that  men  wore  golcl 
The  Pope  rejoined:  *  It  will  look  poor/     Buom 
roti   added :    '  Those    w^ho    are    painted   there  we| 
poor  men/  ^     So  the  matter  turned  into  pleasanti 
and    the    frescoes    have    remained    in  their  prese 
state."     Condivi  goes  on  to  state  that  Michelangel 
received  3000  ducats  for  all  his  expenses,  and  th 
he  spent  as  much  as  twenty  or  twenty-five  duca| 
on  colours  alone.     Upon  the  difficult   question 
the  moneys  earned  by  the  great  artist  in  his  lif| 
work,  I  shall  have   to    speak   hereafter,    though 
doubt  whether  any  really  satisfactory  account  ci\ 
now  be  given  of  them. 


VIII. 

Michelangelo's  letters  to  his   family  in   Floren 
throw  a  light  at   once   vivid  and   painful   over  t) 
circumstances    of  his    life    during    these   years 
sustained  creative   energy.      He  was  uncoraforta 
in   his   bachelor's  home,  and  always  in  difficulti 


1  Michelangelo,  in  the  letter  to  Fattucci  (see  Appendix),  refers  t! 
repartee  to  the  first  period  of  his  work  upon  the  Sistine.  It  \ 
characteristic  of  the  man  to  leave  the  frescoes  without  ornament,  a 
perhaps  without  the  final  finish  he  had  planned. 


I 

I 


DOMESTIC   DIFFICULTIES.  221 

ith  his  servants.  "  I  am  living  here  in  discontent, 
)t  thoroughly  well,  and  undergoing  great  fatigue, 
ithout  money,  and  with  no  one  to  look  after  me."  ^ 
gain,  when  one  of  his  brothers  proposed  to  visit 
im  in  Rome,  he  writes :  ^  ''  I  hear  that  Gismondo 
eans  to  come  hither  on  his  affairs.  Tell  him 
)t  to  count  on  me  for  anything ;  not  because  I 
)  not  love  him  as  a  brother,  but  because  I  am  not 
the  position  to  assist  him.  I  am  bound  to  care 
r  myself  first,  and  I  cannot  provide  myself  with 
j-.cessaries.  I  live  here  in  great  distress  and  the 
bmost  bodily  fatigue,   have   no  friends,   and    seek 

ione.     I  have  not  even  time  enough  to  eat  what  I 
J  jquire.      Therefore   let   no   additional   burdens  be 
,  tit  upon  me,  for  I  could  not  bear  another  ounce." 
1  the  autumn  of  1509   he  corresponded  with  his 
ither  about  the  severe  illness  of  an  assistant  work- 
man whom  he  kept,  and  also  about  a  boy  he  wanted 
jnt  from   Florence.^      "  I    should   be   glad  if  you 
iould  hear  of  some  lad  at  Florence,  the  son  of  good 
arents  and  poor,  used  to  hardships,  who  would  be 
•illing  to  come  and  live  with  me  here,  to  do  the 
K'ork  of  the  house,  buy  what  I  want,  and  go  around 
iQ  messages  ;   in  his  leisure   time  he   could  learn, 
jhould  such  a  boy  be  found,  please  let  me  know; 
ecause   there    are    only  rogues    here,    and    I    am 

^  Lettere,  No.  v.,  date  June  1 508. 
1^  Lettere,  No.  Ixxx.,  October  17,  1509. 

^  Lettere,  Nos.  ix.,  xviii.,  xix.  Milaiiesi  dates  No.  ix.  November  5, 
1508  ;  but  it  is  clearly  in  connection  with  the  other  two,  dated 
iuuary  15 10, 


222  LIFE   OF  MICHELANGELO. 

in  great  need  of  some  one."     All  through  his  lif| 
Michelangelo  adopted  the  plan  of  keeping  a  youi 
fellow  to  act  as  general  servant,  and  at  the  sac 
time  to  help  in  art-work.     Three  of  these  servan 
are  interwoven  with  the   chief  events  of  his  lat 
years,  Pietro  Urbano,  Antonio  Mini,  and  Frances 
d'Amadore,  called  Urbino,  the  last  of  whom  becar 
his  faithful  and   attached  friend  till  death  part 
them.     Women  about  the  house  he  could  not  bes 
Of  the  serving-maids  at  Rome  he  says  :  ^  "  They  a 
all    strumpets    and    swine."      Well,    it   seems   it 
Lodovico  found  a  boy,  and  sent  him  off  to  Ron 
What  followed  is  related  in  the  next  letter.     ' 
regards  the  boy  you  sent  me,  that  rascal  of  a  mul 
teer  cheated  me    out   of  a  ducat  for  his  journc 
He  swore  that  the  bargain  had  been  made  for  t^ 
broad  golden  ducats,  whereas  all  the  lads  who  coi 
here  with  the   muleteers  pay  only  ten  carlins. 
was  more  angry  at  this  than  if  I  had  lost  twent 
five  ducats,  because  I   saw  that  his  father  had  i 
solved  to  send  him  on  mule-back  like  a  gentlemEf 
Oh,  I  had  never  such  good    luck,  not  I !      ThI 
both  the  father  and  the  lad  promised  that  he  woii 
do  everything,  attend  to  the  mule,  and  sleep  up!; 
the  ground,  if  it  was  wanted.    And  now  I  am  obligji 
to  look  after  him.     As  if  I  needed  more  worr  ; 
than  the  one  I  have  had  ever  since  I  arrived  hei 
My  apprentice,  whom  I  left  in  Rome,  has  been 
from  the  day  on  which  I  returned  until  now. 

*  Lettere,  No.  ccxxxv. 


THE   BOY   FROM   FLORENCE.  223 

true  that  he  is  getting  better;  but  he  lay  for 
30ut  a  month  in  peril  of  his  life,  despaired  of  by 
le  doctors,  and  I  never  went  to  bed.  There  are 
;her  annoyances  of  my  own ;  and  now  I  have  the 
dsance  of  this  lad,  who  says  that  he  does  not 
ant  to  waste  time,  that  he  wants  to  study,  and 
)  on.  At  Florence  he  said  he  would  be  satisfied 
ith  two  or  three  hours  a  day.  Now  the  whole. 
ay  is  not  enough  for  him,  but  he  must  needs  be 
rawing  all  the  night.  It  is  all  the  fault  of  what 
is  father  tells  him.  If  I  complained,  he  would 
ij  that  I  did  not  want  him  to  learn.  I  really 
jquire  some  one  to  take  care  of  the  house ;  and  if 
le  boy  had  no  mind  for  this  sort  of  work,  they 
Inight  not  to  have  put  me  to  expense.  But  they 
I  re  good-for-nothing,  and  are  working  toward  a 
ertain  end  of  their  own.  Enough,  I  beg  you  to 
elieve  me  of  the  boy ;  he  has  bored  me  so  that  I 
annot  bear  it  any  longer.  The  muleteer  has  been 
jo  well  paid  that  he  can  very  well  take  him  back 
TO  Florence.     Besides,  he  is  a  friend  of  the  father. 

SFell  the  father  to  send  for  him  home.  I  shall  not 
,bay  another  farthing.  I  have  no  money.  I  will 
ffiave  patience  till  he  sends;  and  if  he  does  not 
\  liend,  I  will  turn  the  boy  out  of  doors.  I  did 
I  b  already  on  the  second  day  of  his  arrival,  and 
!'  )ther  times  also,  and  the  father  does  not  believe 

rt. 

"  P.S. — If  you  talk  to  the  father  of  the  lad,  put 
:he  matter  to  him  nicely  :  as  that  he  is  a  good  boy, 


iei 


224 


LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 


but  too  refined,  and  not  fit  for  my  service,  and  sd| 
that  he  had  better  send  for  him  home." 

The  repentant  postscript  is  eminently  charactel 
istic  of  Michelangelo.     He  used  to  write  in  hast] 
apparently  just  as  the  thoughts  came.     Afterwarcl 
he  read  his  letter  over,   and  softened   its  conten 
down,  if  he  did  not,  as  sometimes  happened,  feel  thJ 
his  meaning  required  enforcement ;   in  that  case  111 
added  a  stinging  tail  to  the  epigram.     How  little  li 
could  manage  the  people  in  his  employ  is  clear  froil 
the  last  notice  we  possess  about  the  unlucky  lad  froij 
Florence.     **  I  wrote  about  the  boy,  to  say  that  h 
father  ought  to  send  for  him,  and  that  I  would  n( 
disburse  more  money.      This  I  now  confirm.     Th 
driver  is  paid  to  take  him  back.     At  Florence  h 
will  do  well  enough,  learning  his  trade  and  dwellin 
with  his  parents.     Here  he  is  not  worth  a  farthin{| 
and  makes  me  toil  like  a  beast  of  burden ;  and 
other  apprentice  has  not  left  his  bed.     It  is  ti 
that  I  have  not  got  him  in  the  house ;  for  wh( 
I  was  so  tired  out  that  I  could  not  bear  it,  I  seil 
him  to  the  room  of  a  brother  of  his.      I  have  nl 
money." 

/  These  household  difiiculties  were  a  trifle,  ho 
Wer,  compared  with  the  annoyances  caused  by  t 
stupidity  of  his  father  and  the  greediness  of  h 
brothers.  While  living  like  a  poor  man  in  Rom 
he  kept  continually  thinking  of  their  welfare.  Tt 
letters  of  this  period  are  full  of  references  to  tt 
purchase  of  land,  the  transmission  of  cash  when 


Three  Studies— Sistine  Ceiling. 


f 


LETTER  TO   GIOVAN   SIMONE.  225 

as  to  be  had,  and  the  establishment  of  Buonarroto 
1  a  draper's  business.  They,  on  their  part,  were 
ever  satisfied,  and  repaid  his  kindness  with  in- 
ratitude.  The  following  letter  to  Giovan  Simone 
hows  how  terrible  Michelangelo  could  be  when  he 
etected  baseness  in  a  brother  :  ^ — 

"  Giovan  Simone, — It  is  said  that  when  one  does 
cod  to  a  good  man,  he  makes  him  become  better, 
ut  that  a  bad  man  becomes  worse.  It  is  now 
lany  years  that  I  have  been  endeavouring  with 
'ords  and  deeds  of  kindness  to  bring  you  to  live 
onestly  and  in  peace  with  your  father  and  the 
5st  of  us.  You  grow  continually  worse.  I  do 
ot  say  that  you  are  a  scoundrel ;  but  you  are  of 
iich  sort  that  you  have  ceased  to  give  satisfac- 
on  to  me  or  anybody.  I  could  read  you  a  long 
jsson  on  your  ways  of  living ;  but  they  would 
e  idle  words,  like  all  the  rest  that  I  have  wasted. 
0  cut  the  matter  short,  I  will  tell  you  as  a  fact 
eyond  all  question  that  you  have  nothing  in  the 
^orld :  what  you  spend  and  your  house-room,  I  give 
ou,  and  have  given  you  these  many  years,  for  the 
)ve  of  God,  believing  you  to  be  my  brother  like 
le  rest.  Now,  I  am  sure  that  you  are  not  my 
rother,  else  you  would  not  threaten  my  father. 
^^J»  you  are  a  beast;  and  as  a  beast  I  mean  to 
:eat  you.  Know  that  he  who  sees  his  father 
ireatened  or  roughly  handled  is  bound  to  risk  his 

*  Lettere,  No.  cxxvii.,  date  July  1 508. 
VOL.  I.  ^ 


22(5  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

own  life  in  this  cause.  Let  that  suffice.  I  repej 
that  you  have  nothing  in  the  world ;  and  if  I  hcc 
the  least  thing  about  your  ways  of  going  on,  I  wi 
come  to  Florence  by  the  post,  and  show  you  ho 
far  wrong  you  are,  and  teach  you  to  waste  yoi 
substance,  and  set  fire  to  houses  and  farms  you  ha^ 
not  earned.  Indeed  you  are  not  where  you  thin 
yourself  to  be.  If  I  come,  I  will  open  your  ey( 
to  what  will  make  you  weep  hot  tears,  and  recognij 
on  what  false  grounds  you  base  your  arrogance, 

**  I  have  something  else  to  say  to  you,  which  I  ha) 
said  before.  If  you  will  endeavour  to  hve  rightli 
and  to  honour  and  revere  your  father,  I  am  willir 
to  help  you  like  the  rest,  and  will  put  it  short 
within  your  power  to  open  a  good  shop.  If  yc 
act  otherwise,  I  shall  come  and  settle  your  affai| 
in  such  a  way  that  you  will  recognise  what  you  ai 
better  than  you  ever  did,  and  will  know  what  yc 
have  to  call  your  own,  and  will  have  it  shown 
you  in  every  place  where  you  may  go.  No  mor 
What  I  lack  in  words  I  will  supply  with  deeds. 

**  Michelangelo  in  Rome, 

"  I  cannot  refrain  from  adding  a  couple  of  line 
It  is  as  follows.  I  have  gone  these  twelve  yea 
past  drudging  about  through  Italy,  borne  eve: 
shame,  suffered  every  hardship,  worn  my  body  o 
in  every  toil,  put  my  life  to  a  thousand  hazards,  ai 
all  with  the  sole  purpose  of  helping  the  fortunes 
my  family.     Now  that  I  have  begun  to  raise  it  i 


LETTER  TO   BUONARROTO.  227 

little,  you  only,  you  alone,  choose  to  destroy  and 
ting  to  ruin  in  one  hour  what  it  has  cost  me  so 
any  years  and  such  labour  to  build  up.  By  Christ's 
)dy  this  shall  not  be ;  for  I  am  the  man  to  put  to 
le  rout  ten  thousand  of  your  sort,  whenever  it  be 
jeded.  Be  wise  in  time,  then,  and  do  not  try  the 
itience  of  one  who  has  other  things  to  vex  him."  ^ 

Even  Buonarroto,  who  was  the  best  of  the  brothers 
id  dearest  to  his  heart,  hurt  him  by  his  grasping- 
3ss  and  want  of  truth.  He  had  been  staying  at 
ome  on  a  visit,  and  when  he  returned  to  Florence 

appears  that  he  bragged  about  his  wealth,  as  if 
e  sums  expended  on  the  Buonarroti  farms  were 
:bt  part  of  Michelangelo's  earnings.  The  conse- 
aence  was  that  he  received  a  stinging  rebuke 
om  his  elder  brother .2  *'  The  said  Michele  told  me 
i)u  mentioned  to  him  having  spent  about  sixty 
icats  at  Settignano.  I  remember  your  saying  here 
>o  at  table  that  you  had  disbursed  a  large  sum  out 

your  own  pocket.      I  pretended  not  to  under- 

and,  and  did  not  feel  the  least  surprise,  because 

know  you.     I  should  like  to  hear  from  your  in- 

i^atitude  out  of  what  money  you  gained  them.     If 

y-  Passerini  (in  Gotti,  ii  19)  thinks  that  this  letter  drove  Giovan 
amone  abroad.  He  went,  it  seems,  to  Lisbon,  intending  to  take  ship 
i:  the  Indies.  However,  he  was  back  again  in  1512,  and  set  up  busi- 
|S8  with  Buonarroto. 

r  Lettere,  No.  xcii.,  date  July  30,  1513.  It  must  be  said,  in  a  spirit 
« equity  to  Michelangelo's  family,  that  suspiciousness  formed  a  strong 
<;ment  in  his  character.  The  letter  quoted  above  seems  to  be  an 
iBtaiice  of  this  failing.  As  usual  there  were  faults  upon  both  sides 
I  these  domestic  rubs. 


[  I 


228  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

you  had  enough  sense  to  know  the  truth,  you  wou 
not  say  :  *  I  spent  so  and  so  much  of  my  own  ; '  aL 
you  would  not  have  come  here  to  push  your  affai 
with  me,  seeing  how  I  have  always  acted  toward  yc 
in  the  past,  but  would  have  rather  said  :  *  Miche 
angelo  remembers  what  he  wrote  to  us,  and  if  1 
does  not  now  do  what  he  promised,  he  must  be  pr 
vented  by  something  of  which  we  are  ignorant,*  ai 
then  have  kept  your  peace  ;  because  it  is  not  we 
to  spur  the  horse  that  runs  as  fast  as  he  is  able,  ai 
more  than  he  is  able.  But  you  have  never  knov- 
me,  and  do  not  know  me.  God  pardon  you  ;  f 
it  is  He  who  granted  me  the  grace  to  bear  wh 
I  do  bear  and  have  borne,  in  order  that  you  mig 
be  helped.  Well,  you  will  know  me  when  y( 
have  lost  me." 

Michelangelo's  angry  moods  rapidly  cooled  dow 
At  the  bottom  of  his  heart  lay  a  deep  and  abidii 
love  for  his  family.  There  is  something  caressii 
in  the  tone  with  which  he  replies  to  grumblii 
letters  from  his  father.^  "Do  not  vex  yourse 
God  did  not  make  us  to  abandon  us."  "If  y<j 
want  me,  I  will  take  the  post,  and  be  with  y 
in  two  days.  Men  are  worth  more  than  mone] 
His  warm  aflfection  transpires  even  more  clearly 
the  two  following  documents :  ^  "I  should  K 
you    to    be    thoroughly    convinced     that    all    t 

1  Lettere,  Nos.  xx.,  xxi.,  date  September  1510. 

2  Lettere,  Nos.  vii.,  xxii.,  dates  August  1508,  September  15,  15 
both  addressed  to  Lodovico. 


LETTERS   TO   LODOVICO.  229 

ibours    I    have    ever    undergone    have    not    been 

lore  for  myself  than  for  your  sake.    What  I  have 

ought,  I  bought  to  be  yours  so  long  as  you  live. 

f  you  had  not  been  here,  I  should  have  bought 

othing.     Therefore,  if  you  wish  to  let  the  house 

nd  farm,  do  so  at   your  pleasure.     This  income, 

ogether  with  what  I   shall  give  you,  will  enable 

ou  to  live  like  a  lord."     At  a  time  when  Lodovico 

k^as  much  exercised  in  his  mind  and  spirits  by  a 

I  !iwsuit,  his  son   writes   to    comfort   the  old  man. 

■  Do  not  be  discomfited,  nor  give  yourself  an  ounce 

f  sadness.     Remember  that  losing  money  is   not 

Dsing  one's  life.     I  will    more   than  make  up  to 

"  ou  what  you  must  lose.     Yet  do   not  attach  too 

auch  value  to  worldly  goods,  for  they  are  by  nature 

Lutrustworthy.     Thank  God   that   this    trial,    if  it 

]  VB.S  bound  to  come,  came  at  a  time  when  you  have 

^  jaore  resources  than  you  had  in  years  past.    Look 

^  lo  preserving  your  life   and    health,    but  let   your 

\  fortunes  go  to  ruin  rather  than  sujffer  hardships  ;  for 

^     would  sooner  have  you  alive   and  poor ;    if  you 

<  Vere  dead,  I  should  not  care  for  all  the  gold  in 

he  world.     If  those  chatterboxes  or  any  one  else 

eprove  you,  let  them  talk,  for  they  are  men  without 

intelligence  and  without  affection." 

I     References  to  public  events  are  singularly  scanty 

In  this  correspondence.     Much  as  Michelangelo  felt 

he  woes  of  Italy — and  we  know  he  did  so  by  his 

;  Doems — he  talked  but  little,  doing  his  work  daily 

ike  a  wise  man  all  through  the  dust  and  din  stirred 


23©  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

up  by  Julius  and  the  League  of  Cambrai.  Th 
lights  and  shadows  of  Italian  experience  at  th 
time  are  intensely  dramatic.  We  must  not  alt 
gether  forget  the  vicissitudes  of  war,  plague,  an 
foreign  invasion,  which  exhausted  the  countryBF' 
while  its  greatest  men  continued  to  produce  im| 
mortal  masterpieces.  Aldo  Manuzio  was  quietlj 
printing  his  complete  edition  of  Plato,  and  Michel| 
angelo  was  transferring  the  noble  figure  of  a  pro;^ 
phet  or  a  sibyl  to  the  plaster  of  the  Sistine,  whil 
young  Gaston  de  Foix  was  dying  at  the  point  o 
victory  upon  the  bloody  shores  of  the  Konco.  Some 
times,  however,  the  disasters  of  his  country  touchec 
Michelangelo  so  nearly  that  he  had  to  write  or  speal 
about  them.  After  the  battle  of  Ravenna,  on  th( 
nth  of  April  151 2,  Raimondo  de  Cardona  and  hi 
Spanish  troops  brought  back  the  Medici  to  Florence 
On  their  way,  the  little  town  of  Prato  was  sacked  witl  fli 
a  barbarity  which  sent  a  shudder  through  the  whole 
peninsula.  The  Cardinal  Giovanni  de'  Medici,  whc 
entered  Florence  on  the  14th  of  September,  estab 
lished  his  nephews  as  despots  in  the  city,  and  inti 
midated  the  burghers  by  what  looked  likely  to  be 
a  reign  of  terror.  These  facts  account  for  the  un 
easy  tone  of  a  letter  vrritten  by  Michelangelo  t( 
Buonarroto.^  Prato  had  been  taken  by  assault  upor 
the  30th  of  August,  and  was  now  prostrate  aftei 
those  hideous  days  of  torment,  massacre,  and  out 
rage  indescribable  which  followed.     In  these  circum 

*  Lettere,  No.  xc,  date  September  5,  15 12. 


SACK   OF   PRATO   AND   THE   MEDICI.         231 

stances  Michelangelo  advises  his  family  to  '*  escape 
into  a  place  of  safety,  abandoning  their  household 
gear  and  property ;  for  life  is  far  more  worth  than 
money."  If  they  are  in  need  of  cash,  they  may  draw 
upon  his  credit  with  the  Spedalingo  of  S.  Maria 
Novella.^  The  constitutional  liability  to  panic  which 
must  be  recognised  in  Michelangelo  emerges  at  the 
close  of  the  letter.  "As  to  public  events,  do  not 
meddle  with  them  either  by  deed  or  word.  Act  as 
though  the  plague  were  raging.  Be  the  first  to  fly." 
The  Buonarroti  did  not  take  his  advice,  but  re- 
mained at  Florence,  enduring  agonies  of  terror.  It 
was  a  time  when  disaffection  toward  the  Medicean 
princes  exposed  men  to  risking  life  and  limb. 
Rumours  reached  Lodovico  that  his  son  had  talked 
imprudently  at  Rome.  He  wrote  to  inquire  what 
truth  there  was  in  the  report,  and  Michelangelo 
replied :  ^  "  With  regard  to  the  Medici,  I  have  never 
spoken  a  single  word  against  them,  except  in  the 
way  that  everybody  talks — as,  for  instance,  about  the 
sack  of  Prato  ;  for  if  the  stones  could  have  cried  out, 
I  think  they  would  have  spoken.  There  have  been 
many  other  things  said  since  then,  to  which,  when 
I  heard  them,  I  have  answered  :  '  If  they  are  really 
acting  in  this  way,  they  are  doing  wrong ; '  not  that 
I  believed  the  reports ;  and  God  grant  they  are  not 
true.     About  a  month  ago,  some  one  who  makes  a 

1  This  functionary  acted  as  Michelangelo's  banker,  and  helped  him 
with  advice  in  the  purchase  of  land. 

2  Lettere,  No.  xxxvi.,  date  October  15 12. 


232  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

show  of  friendship  for  me  spoke  very  evilly  abouj 
their  deeds.  I  rebuked  him,  told  him  that  it  w: 
not  well  to  talk  so,  and  begged  him  not  to  dJ 
so  again  to  me.  However,  I  should  like  Buonarroti 
quietly  to  find  out  how  the  rumour  aross  of  m; 
having  calumniated  the  Medici ;  for  if  it  is  some  om 
who  pretends  to  be  my  friend,  I  ought  to  be  upo 
my  guard." 

The  Buonarroti  family,  though  well  affectec 
toward  Savonarola,  were  connected  by  many  ties  o: 
interest  and  old  association  with  the  Medici,  an 
were  not  powerful  enough  to  be  the  mark  o: 
violent  political  persecution.  Nevertheless,  a  fin 
was  laid  upon  them  by  the  newly  restored  Govern 
ment.  This  drew  forth  the  following  epistle  fro 
Michelangelo  :  ^— 


"  Dearest  Father, — Your  last  informs  me  how 
things  are  going  on  at  Florence,  though  I  already 
knew  something.  We  must  have  patience,  commit 
ourselves  to  God,  and  repent  of  our  sins  ;  for  these 
trials  are  solely  due  to  them,  and  more  particularly] 
to  pride  and  ingratitude.  I  never  conversed  withl 
a  people  more  ungrateful  and  pufied  up  than  the 
Florentines.  Therefore,  if  judgment  comes,  it  is 
but  right  and  reasonable.  As  for  the  sixty  ducats 
you  tell  me  you  are  fined,  I  think  this  a  scurvy 
trick,  and  am  exceedingly  annoyed.  However,  we 
must  have  patience  as  long  as  it  pleases  God.    I 

1  Lettere,  No.  xxxvii.,  date  October  15 12. 


THE   BUONARROTI   ARE   FINED.  233 

is^ill  write  and  enclose  two  lines  to  Giuliano  de' 
Medici.  Eead  them,  and  if  you  like  to  present 
Aem  to  him,  do  so  ;  you  will  see  whether  they 
are  likely  to  be  of  any  use.  If  not,  consider  whether 
live  can  sell  our  property  and  go  to  live  elsewhere. 
I  .  .  Look  to  your  life  and  health  ;  and  if  you  can- 
not share  the  honours  of  the  land  like  other  burghers, 
36  contented  that  bread  does  not  fail  you,  and  live 
Well  with  Christ,  and  poorly,  as  I  do  here ;  for  I  live 
n  a  sordid  way,  regarding  neither  life  nor  honours — 
i;hat  is,  the  world — and  suffer  the  greatest  hardships 
imd  innumerable  anxieties  and  dreads.  It  is  now 
ibout  fifteen  years  since  I  had  a  single  hour  of  well- 
oeing,  and  all  that  I  have  done  has  been  to  help  you, 
iind  you  have  never  recognised  this  nor  believed  it. 
jod  pardon  us  all !  I  am  ready  to  go  on  doing  the 
5ame  so  long  as  I  live,  if  only  I  am  able." 


We  have  reason  to  believe  that  the  petition  to 
ijiuliano  proved  effectual,  for  in  his  next  letter  he 
congratulates  his  father  upon  their  being  restored  to 
■avour.^  In  the  same  communication  he  mentions 
I  young  Spanish  painter  whom  he  knew  in  Rome, 
imd  whom  he  believes  to  be  ill  at  Florence.  This 
ivas  probably  the  Alonso  Berughetta  who  made  a 
:3opy  of  the  Cartoon  for  the  Battle  of  Pisa.  In  July 
1508  Michelangelo  wrote  twice  about  a  Spaniard 
vho  wanted  leave  to  study  the  Cartoon  ;  first  beg- 
ging Buonarroto  to  procure  the  keys  for  him,  and 

^  Lettere,  No.  xxxviii.     The  plirase  is  ribenedetti. 


234  LIFE   OF  MICHELANGELO. 


afterwards  saying  that  he  is  glad  to  hear  that  th 
permission  was  refused.^  It  does  not  appear  certai 
whether  this  was  the  same  Alonso ;  but  it  is  in 
teresting  to  find  that  Michelangelo  disliked  hi 
Cartoon  being  copied.  We  also  learn  from  thes 
letters  that  the  Battle  of  Pisa  then  remained  in  th 
Sala  del  Papa.^ 


IX. 

I  will  conclude  this  chapter  by  translating 
sonnet  addressed  to  Giovanni  da  Pistoja,  in  whic 
Michelangelo  humorously  describes  the  discomfort 
he  endured  while  engaged  upon  the  Sistine.^  Con 
divi  tells  us  that  from  painting  so  long  in  a  strainet 
attitude,  gazing  up  at  the  vault,  he  lost  for  som( 
time  the  power  of  reading  except  when  he  lifted  th( 
paper  above  his  head  and  raised  his  eyes.  Vasar 
corroborates  the  narrative  from  his  own  experienc< 
in  the  vast  halls  of  the  Medicean  palace.* 


I've  grown  a  goitre  by  dwelling  in  this  den — 
As  cats  from  stagnant  streams  in  Lombardy, 
Or  in  what  other  land  they  hap  to  be — 

Which  drives  the  belly  close  beneath  the  chin  ; 

^  Lettere,  Nos.  Ixxvi.,  Ixxviii. 

2  At  least  that  is  the  inference  of  Milanesi.     Lettere,  p.  95,  note. 

3  Rime;  Sonnet,  No.  v.  The  autograph  has  a  funny  little  cari- 
cature upon  the  margin,  showing  a  man,  with  protruded  stomach  and 
head  bent  back,  using  his  brush  upon  a  surface  high  above  him. 

*  Condi vi,  p.  41 ;  Vasari,  xii  193. 


! 


SONNET   ON   THE  SISTINE. 


^35 


My  beard  turns  up  to  heaven ;  my  nape  falls  in, 
Fixed  on  my  spine :  my  breast- bone  visibly 
Grows  like  a  harp  :  a  rich  embroidery 

Bedews  my  face  from  brush-drops  thick  and  thin. 

My  loins  into  my  paunch  like  levers  grind  : 
My  buttock  like  a  crupper  bears  my  weight ; 
My  feet  unguided  wander  to  and  fro ; 

In  front  my  skin  grows  loose  and  long ;  behind, 
By  bending  it  becomes  more  taut  and  strait ; 
Crosswise  I  strain  me  like  a  Syrian  bow : 
Whence  false  and  quaint,  I  know, 

Must  be  the  fruit  of  squinting  brain  and  eye ; 

For  ill  can  aim  the  gun  that  bends  awry. 
Come  then,  Giovanni,  try 

To  succour  my  dead  pictures  and  my  fame, 

Since  foul  I  fare  and  painting  is  my  shame. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

I.  The  Sistine  Cliapel  was  built  in  1473. — Its  dimensions. — State 
the  frescoes  there  before  Michelangelo  began  to  paint. — 2.  Salie 
differences  between  his  manner  and  that  of  the  fifteenth-centurj 
masters. — His  scheme  for  the  vault. — The  subjects  of  nine  centri 
pictures. — Prophets  and  sibyls. — Four  types  of  God's  mercy  tl 
mankind. — The  ancestors  of  Christ. — Genii  and  decorative  nud| 
figures. — 3.   Michelangelo  confined  himself   to  ap.  acchitectun 

~'  "framework  and  a  host  of  human  figures. — Donatello  and  Signorel 
''^^4r'Srgnorelli's  frescoes  in  the  tJappella  di  S.  Brizio  at  Orvieto. 
The  strong;  similarity  of  his  temperament  and  artistic  ideals  fcf 
those  of  Buonarroti. — -Ilmployment  of  the  simple  nude  for  decorativi 

'-'"■ — purposes. — Violence. — In  what  sense  Signorelli  was  the  predecessoj 
of  Michelangelo,  and  in  what  way  he  exerted  a  direct  influeno! 
over  him. — ^  The  colouring  of  the  Sistine  vault. — 6.  Greek  am' 
Italian  ideals  of  form. — Greek  and  Italian  religious  emotion.-! 
<^j^.JM[ic^Lgj^jigelQ  \Y^sjes8fii^tiaJ.ly,a  Romantkj  not  a  Classic. — What 
thislmeans. — His  tr„eatment  of  the  body  and  th'e^  face. — 8.  Hil 
feeling  for  the  male  and  female  figure. — His  ideal  of  womanhoo(:| 
is  adult,  verging  on  the  masculine,  rarely  virginal. — He  seems  t( 
have  understood  the  beauty  of  maternity. — Affinity  between  bin; 

^    and  Lucretius. — Woman  in  his  poems. — Her  hazy  indistinctness.— 
His  intense  and  wholesome  feeling  for  male  beauty  and  strengt] 
— 9.  History  of  the   evolution   of  his   form-ideal  through  foi 
stages  : — (a.)  Influence  of  Donatello  and  Greek  art. — (6.)  Realis: 
and  sincerity  to  Nature. — Culmination  in  the  Cartoon. — (c.)  Deter' 
mination  of  a  schematic  ideal. — (d.)  Gradual  descent  into  formi 
mannerism. — From  the  Last  Judgment  to  the  Paoline  Chapel— I 
In  old  age  the  tender  and  graceful  after- blossom  of  the  designs  for| 
our  Lord's  Passion  and  mythologies. — ^^10.  Importance  of  origi 
drawings.— J^j^^[§B2ek!;sJtoiJX^  imaginative 

vigour,  fecundity,  and  strength  of  memory. -t-ii.  The  four  greatest 
draughtsmen  of  the  atje  compared. — Vehicles  used  byMichelangek; 
chiefly  pen-and-ink  and  red  and  black  chalk.— Circumstances  under 
which  he  preferred  one  or  the  other. — The  Arcieri  at,  Windsor. 


THE  SISTINE   CHAPEL.  237 


I. 

HE  Sistine  Chapel  was  built  in  1473  ^7  Baccio 
ontelli,  a  Florentine  architect,  for  Pope  Sixtus  IV. 
;  is  a  simple  barn-like  chamber,  132  feet  in  length, 
4  in  breadth,  and  68  in  height  from  the  pavement, 
he  ceiling  consists  of  one  expansive  flattened  vault, 
le  central  portion  of  which  offers  a  large  plane  sur- 
ce,  well  adapted  to  fresco  decoration.  The  building 
lighted  by  twelve  windows,  six  upon  each  side  of 
Is  length.  These  are  placed  high  up,  their  rounded 
ches  running  parallel  with  the  first  spring  of  the 
iiulting.  The  ends  of  the  chapel  are  closed  by  flat 
ialls,  against  the  western  of  which  is  raised  the 
tar. 

i  When  Michelangelo  was  called  to  paint  here,  he 
lund  both  sides  of  the  building,  just  below  the 
indows,  decorated  in  fresco  by  Perugino,  Cosimo 
ossein,  Sandro  Botticelli,  Luca  Signorelli,  and 
iomenico  Ghirlandajo.  These  masters  had  depicted, 
1  a  series  of  twelve  subjects,  the  history  of  Moses 
lid  the  life  of  Jesus.  Above  the  lines  of  fresco, 
i.  the  spaces  between  the  windows  and  along  the 
I'Lstern  end  at  the  same  height,  Botticelli  painted 
I  row  of  twenty- eight  Popes.  The  spaces  below 
lie  frescoed  histories,  down  to  the  seats  which  ran 
long  the  pavement,  were  blank,  waiting  for  the 
Ipestries  which  Raffaello  afterwards  supplied  from 
ixtoons  now  in  possession  of  the  English  Crown. 


238  LIFE  OF  MICHELANGELO. 

At  the  west  end,  above  the  altar,  shone  three  deco; 
tive  frescoes  by  Perugino,  representing  the  Assum 
tion  of  the  Virgin,  between  the  finding  of  Mos 
and  the  Nativity.     The  two  last  of  these  pictur 
opened  respectively  the  history  of  Moses  and  t 
life  of  Christ,  so  that  the  Old  and  New  Testamen 
were  equally  illustrated  upon  the  Chapel  walls.     A\ 
the  opposite,  or  eastern  end,  Ghirlandajo  paintejil 
the  Resurrection,   and   there  was    a   correspondin 
picture  of  Michael  contending  with  Satan  for  th 
body  of  Moses. 

Such  was  the  aspect  of  the  Sistine  Chapel  whe: 
Michelangelo  began  his  great  work.  Perugino' 
three  frescoes  on  the  west  wall  were  afterward 
demolished  to  make  room  for  his  Last  Judgment 
The  two  frescoes  on  the  east  wall  are  now  poo 
pictures  by  very  inferior  masters ;  but  the  twelvt 
Scripture  histories  and  Botticelli's  twenty-eight  Pope 
remain  from  the  last  years  of  the  fifteenth  century.^ 

Taken  in  their  aggregate,  the  wall-paintings  I  hav( 
described  afi*orded  a  fair  sample  of  Umbrian  am 
Tuscan  art  in  its  middle  or  quattrocento  age  o 
evolution.  It  remained  for  Buonarroti  to  cover  th 
vault  and  the  whole  western  end  with  masterpiece? 
displaying  what  Vasari  called  the  "  modern  "  style  ir 
its  most  sublime  and  imposing  manifestation.  A 
the  same  time  he  closed  the  cycle  of  the  figurative 

1  This  quattrocento  work  was  carried  out  before  14^4,  immediateh 
after  the  building  of  the  chapel.  Vasari  ascribes  these  Popes  t< 
Botticelli. 


SCHEME   OF   DECORATION.  239 

is,  and  rendered  any  further  progress  on  the  same 
Des  impossible.  The  growth  which  began  with 
iccol6  of  Pisa  and  with  Cimabue,  which  advanced 
tirough  Giotto  and  his  school,  Perugino  and  Pin- 
iiricchio,  Piero  della  Francesca  and  Signorelli,  Fra 
ngelico  and  Benozzo  Gozzoli,  the  Ghirlandajo 
•others,  the  Lippi  and  Botticelli,  effloresced  in 
;  ichelangelo,  leaving  nothing  for  after-comers  but 
:anneristic  imitation. 


11. 

Michelangelo,  instinctively  and  on  principle,  re- 
tted against  the  decorative  methods  of  the  fifteenth 
(intury.  If  he  had  to  paint  a  biblical  or  mytho- 
Igical  subject,  he  avoided  landscapes,  trees,  flowers, 
Irds,  beasts,  and  subordinate  groups  of  figures.  He 
«' chewed  the  arabesques,  the  labyrinths  of  foliage 
£  d  fruit  enclosing  pictured  panels,  the  candelabra 
I A  gay  bands  of  variegated  patterns,  which  enabled 
iquattrocento  painter,  like  Gozzoli  or  Pinturicchio, 
t  produce  brilliant  and  harmonious  general  effects 
B  a  small  expenditure  of  intellectual  energy.  Where 
te  human  body  struck  the  keynote  of  the  music  in 
a  work  of  art,  he  judged  that  such  simple  adjuncts 
ed  naive  concessions  to  the  pleasure  of  the  eye 
sould  be  avoided.^     An  architectural  foundation  for 

^  See  Vasari,  xii.  p.  234. 


240  LIFE   OF  MICHELANGELO. 

the  plastic  forms  to  rest  on,  as  plain  in  structure  and 
as  grandiose  in  line  as  could  be  fashioned,  must 
suffice.  These  principles  he  put  immediately  to  the 
test  in  his  first  decorative  undertaking.  For  the 
vault  of  the  Sistine  he  designed  a  mighty  architec- 
tural framework  in  the  form  of  a  hypeethral  temple, 
suspended  in  the  air  on  jutting  pilasters,  with  bold 
cornices,  projecting  brackets,  and  ribbed  arches  flung 
across  the  void  of  heaven.  Since  the  whole  of  this  i 
ideal  building  was  painted  upon  plaster,  its  inconse- 
quence, want  of  support,  and  disconnection  from  the 
ground-plan  of  the  chapel  do  not  strike  the  mind. 
It  is  felt  to  be  a  mere  basis  for  the  display  of  pictorial 
art,  the  theatre  for  a  thousand  shapes  of  dignity  and 
beauty. 

I  have  called  this  imaginary  temple  hypsethral, 
because  the  master  left  nine  openings  in  the  flattened 
surface  of  the  central  vault.  They  are  unequal  in 
size,  five  being  short  parallelograms,  and  four  being 
spaces  of  the  same  shape  but  twice  their  length. 
Through  these  the  eye  is  supposed  to  pierce  the  roof 
and  discover  the  unfettered  region  of  the  heavens. 
But  here  again  Michelangelo  betrayed  the  inconse- 
quence of  his  invention.  He  filled  the  spaces  in 
question  with  nine  dominant  paintings,  representing 
the  history  of  the  Creation,  the  Fall,  and  the  Deluge, 
Taking  our  position  at  the  west  end  of  the  chapel 
and  looking  upwards,  we  see  in  the  first  compart- 
ment God  dividing  light  from  darkness ;  in  the  second, 
creating  the  sun  and  the  moon  and  the  solid  earth; 


i 


ARCHITECTURAL  SETTING.  241 

in  the  third,  animating  the  ocean  with  His  brooding 
influence  ;  in  the  fourth,  creating  Adam  ;  in  the  fifth, 
creating  Eve.  The  sixth  represents  the  temptation 
of  our  first  parents  and  their  expulsion  from  Paradise. 
The  seventh  shows  Noah^s  sacrifice  before  entering: 
the  ark ;  the  eighth  depicts  the  Deluge,  and  the 
ninth  the  drunkenness  of  Noah.  It  is  clear  that, 
between  the  architectural  conception  of  a  roof  open- 
ing on  the  skies  and  these  pictures  of  events  which 
happened  upon  earth,  there  is  no  logical  connec- 
tion. Indeed,  Michelangelo's  new  system  of  decora- 
tion bordered  dangerously  upon  the  barocco  style, 
and  contained  within  itself  the  germs  of  a  vicious 
m^mnerism. 

It  would  be  captious  and  unjust  to  push  this 
criticism  home.  The  architectural  setting  provided 
for  the  figures  and  the  pictures  of  the  Sistine  vault 
LS  so  obviously  conventional,  every  point  of  vantage 
has  been  so  skilfully  appropriated  to  plastic  uses, 
Bvery  square  inch  of  the  ideal  building  becomes  so 
aaturally,  and  without  confusion,  a  pedestal  for  the 
luman  form,  that  we  are  lost  in  wonder  at  the 
synthetic  imagination  which  here  for  the  first  time 
combined  the  arts  of  arch4t€Lcture^_sculptiire,  and 
minting^ in  a  single  organism^    Each  part  of  the 


mmense  composition/oown  to  the  smallest  detail, 
s  necessary  to  the  total  efiect.  We  are  in  the  pre- 
sence of  a  most  complicated  yet  mathematically 
)rdered  scheme,  which  owes  life  and  animation  to 
me  master-thought.     In  spite  of  its  complexity  and 

VOL.  L  ^ 


242  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

scientific  precision,  the  vault  of  the  Sistine  does  not 
strike  the  mind  as  being  artificial  or  worked  out  by 
calculation,  but  as  being  predestined  to  existence, 
inevitable,  a  cosmos  instinct  with  vitality.  ' 

On  the  pendentives  between  the  spaces  of  the 
windows,  running  up  to  the  ends  of  each  of  the 
five  lesser  pictures,  Michelangelo  placed  alternate 
prophets  and  sibyls  upon  firm  projecting  consoles. 
Five  sibyls  and  five  prophets  run  along  the  side- 
walls  of  the  chapel.  The  end-walls  sustain  each 
of  them  a  prophet.  These  twelve  figures  are  intro- 
duced as  heralds  and  pioneers  of  Christ  the  Saviour, 
whose  presence  on  the  earth  is  demanded  by  the 
fall  of  man  and  the  renewal  of  sin  after  the  Deluge. 
In  the  lunettes  above  the  windows  and  the  arched 
recesses  or  spandrels  over  them  are  depicted  scenes 
setting  forth  the  genealogy  of  Christ  and  of  his 
Mother.  At  each  of  the  four  corner-spandrels  of 
the  ceiling,  Michelangelo  painted,  in  spaces  of  a 
very  peculiar  shape  and  on  a  surface  of  embarrassing  ji 
inequality,  one  magnificent  subject  symbolical  of  i 
man's  redemption.  The  first  is  the  raising  of  thdj  ^ 
Brazen  Serpent  in  the  wilderness ;  the  second,  th 
punishment  of  Haman ;  the  third,  the  victory  o| 
David  over  Goliath ;  the  fourth,  Judith  with  the  '.j 
head  of  Holofernes. 

Thus,  with  a  profound  knowledge  of  the  Bible 
and  with  an  intense  feeling  for  religious  symbolism 
Michelangelo  unrolled  the  history  of  the  creation  o 
the  world  and  man,  the  entrance  of  sin  into  th 


nes 
le 
set 
are 
3iir 
1 


looi 
iole: 


BIBLICAL   HISTORY.  243 

human  heart,  the  punishment  of  sin  by  water,  and 
the  reappearance  of  sin  in  Noah's  family.  Having 
done  this,  he  intimated,  by  means  of  four  special 
mercies  granted  to  the  Jewish  people — types  and 
symbols  of  God's  indulgence — that  a  Saviour  would 
mse  to  redeem  the  erring  human  race.  In  confirma- 
Aon  of  this  promise,  he  called  twelve  potent  wit- 
nesses, seven  of  the  Hebrew  prophets  and  five  of 
:he  Pagan  sibyls.  He  made  appeal  to  history,  and 
jet  around  the  thrones  on  which  these  witnesses 
tre  seated  scenes  detached  from  the  actual  lives  of 
)ur  Lord's  human  ancestors. 

The  intellectual  power  of  this  conception  is  at 
east  equal  to  the  majesty  and  sublime  strength  of 
ts  artistic  presentation.  An  awful  sense  of  coming 
oom  and  merited  damnation  hangs  in  the  thun- 
erous  canopy  of  the  Sistine  vault,  tempered  by  a 
olemn  and  sober  expectation  of  the  Saviour.  It  is 
auch  to  be  regretted  that  Christ,  the  Desired  of 
11  Nations,  the  Redeemer  and  Atoner,  appears  no- 
where adequately  represented  in  the  Chapel.  When 
/lichelangelo  resumed  his  work  there,  it  was  to 
ortray  him  as  an  angered  Hercules,  hurling  curses 
pon  helpless  victims.  The  august  rhetoric  of  the 
eiling  loses  its  effective  value  when  we  can  nowhere 
oint  to  Christ's  life  and  work  on  earth ;  when  there 

no  picture  of  the  Nativity,  none  of  the  Cruci- 
xion,  none  of  the  Resurrection ;  and  when  the 
seble  panels  of  a  Perugino  and  a  Cosimo  RosseUi 
:e  crushed  into  insignificance  by  the  terrible  Last 


•- 


244  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

Judgment.  In  spite  of  Buonarroti's  great  creative 
strength,  and  injuriously  to  his  real  feeling  as  a 
Christian,  the  piecemeal  production  which  governs 
all  large  art  undertakings  results  here  in  a  maimed 
and  one-sided  rendering  of  what  theologians  call  the 
Scheme  of  Salvation. 


III. 

So  much  has  been  written  about  the  pictoria 
beauty,  the  sublime  imagination,  the  dramatic  energy 
the  profound  significance,  the  exact  science,  the  sh} 
graces,  the  terrible  force,  and  finally  the  vivid  power 
of  characterisation  displayed  in  these  frescoes,  tha 
I  feel  it  would  be  impertinent  to  attempt  a  ney 
discourse  upon  a  theme  so  time-worn.  I  must  con 
tent  myself  with  referring  to  what  I  have  alread 
published,  which  will,  I  hope,  be  sufficient  to  demon 
strate  that  I  do  not  avoid  the  task  for  want 
enthusiasm.^  The  study  of  much  rhetorical  criti 
cism  makes  me  feel  strongly  that,  in  front  of  certai: 
masterpieces,  silence  is  best,  or,  in  lieu  of  silence 
some  simple  pregnant  sayings,  capable  of  rousin 
folk  to  independent  observation. 

These  convictions  need  not  prevent  me,  howeve; 
from  fixing  attention  upon  a  subordinate  matter,  bi 
one  which  has  the    most   important   bearing   upo 

1  Renaissance  in  Italy ^  "The  Fine  Arts,"  pp.  342-346,  407-412. 


Head  of  Isaiah. 


THE   HUMAN   FIGURE.  245 

Michelangelo's  genius.  After  designing  the  architec- 
tural theatre  which  I  have  attempted  to  describe, 
and  filling  its  main  spaces  with  the  vast  religious 
drama  he  unrolled  symbolically  in  a  series  of  primeval 
scenes,  statuesque  figures,  and  countless  minor  groups 
contributing  to  one  intellectual  conception ;  he  pro- 
ceeded to  charge  the  interspaces — all  that  is  usually 
left  for  facile  decorative  details — with  an  army  of  pas- 
sionately felt  and  wonderfully  executed  nudes,  forms 
of  youths  and  children,  naked  or  half  draped,  in  every 
conceivable  posture  and  with  every  possible  variety  of 
facial  type  and  expression.  On  pedestals,  cornices, 
medallions,  tympanums,  in  the  angles  made  by  arches, 
wherever  a  vacant  plane  or  unused  curve  was  found, 
he  set  these  vivid  transcripts  from  humanity  in  ac- 
tion. We  need  not  stop  to  inquire  what  he  intended 
by  that  host  of  plastic  shapes  evoked  from  his  ima- 
gination. The  triumphant  leaders  of  the  crew,  the 
twenty  lads  who  sit  upon  their  consoles,  sustaining 
medallions  by  ribands  which  they  lift,  have  been 
variously  and  inconclusively  interpreted.  In  the  long 
row  of  Michelangelo's  creations,  those  young  men  are 
perhaps  the  most  significant — athletic  adolescents, 
with  faces  of  feminine  delicacy  and  poignant  fascina- 
tion. But  it  serves  no  purpose  to  inquire  what  they 
symbolise.  If  we  did  so,  we  should  have  to  go  further, 
and  ask.  What  do  the  bronze  figures  below  them, 
twisted  into  the  boldest  attitudes  the  human  frame 
can  take,  or  the  twinned  children  on  the  pedestals, 
signify  ?     In  this  region,  the  region  of  pure  plastic 


wtiic 
plet( 


246  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

play,  when  art  drops  the  wand  of  the  interpreter 
and  allows  physical  beauty  to  be  a  law  unto  itself, 
Michelangelo  demonstrated  that  no  decorative 
element  in  the  hand  of  a  really  supreme  mastet 
is  equal  to  the  nude. 

Previous  artists,  with  a  strong  instinct  for  plastid 
as  opposed  to  merely  picturesque  effect,  had  workeC  |Orvi 
upon  the  same  line.  Donatello  revelled  in  the 
rhythmic  dance  and  stationary  grace  of  children  |H9! 
Luca  Signorelli  initiated  the  plan  of  treating  com 
plex  ornament  by  means  of  the  mere  human  body 
and  for  this  reason,  in  order  to  define  the  position  of 
Michelangelo  in  Italian  art-history,  I  shall  devotej|liisj 
the  next  section  of  this  chapter  to  Luca^s  work  at 
Orvieto.  But  Buonarroti  in  tl^e  ^istine  carriedjIOmt 
their  suggestions  to  completion. /The  result  is  Jiltliese 
mapped-out  chart  of  living  figures — a  vast  pattern 
each  detail  of  which  is  a  masterpiece  of  modelling 
After  we  have  grasped  the  intellectual  content  o: 
the  whole,  the  message  it  was  meant  to  inculcate 
the  spiritual  meaning  present  to  the  maker's  mind 
we  discover  that,  in  the  sphere  of  artistic  accomplish 
ment,  as  distinct  from  intellectual  suggestion,  ond 
rhythm  of  purely  figurative  beauty  has  been  carriec 
throughout — from  God  creating  Adam  to  the  boj 
who  waves  his  torch  above  the  censer  of  the  Eryth 
rean  sibyl.  / 


Ihi 


tecept 


irke( 
Iren 


)D0 


h: 


LUCA   SIGNORELLI.  247 


IV. 

Of  all  previous  painters,  only  Luca  Signorelli  de- 
serves to  be  called  the  forerunner  of  Michelangelo, 
and  his  Chapel  of  S.  Brizio  in  the  Cathedral  at 
Orvieto  in  some  remarkable  respects  anticipates  the 
Sistine.  This  eminent  master  was  commissioned  in 
1499  to  finish  its  decoration,  a  small  portion  of 
which  had  been  begun  by  Fra  Angelico.  He  com- 
pleted the  whole  Chapel  within  the  space  of  two 
years ;  so  that  the  young  Michelangelo,  upon  one  of 
his  journeys  to  or  from  Rome,  may  probably  have  seen 
the  frescoes  in  their  glory.     Although  no  visit  to 

rriei  Orvieto  is  recorded  by  his  biographers,  the  fame  of 
these  masterpieces  by  a  man  whose  work  at  Florence 
had  already  influenced  his  youthful  genius  must  cer- 
tainly have  attracted  him  to  a  city  which  lay  on  the 
direct  route  from  Tuscany  to.  the  Campagna. 

The  four  walls  of  the  Chapel  of  S.  Brizio  are 

indj  covered  with  paintings  setting  forth  events  imme- 
diately preceding  and  following  the  day  of  judg- 
ment. A  succession  of  panels,  diflfering  in  size  and 
shape,  represent  the  preaching  of  Antichrist,  the 
destruction  of  the  world  by  fire,  the  resurrection 
of  the  body,  the  condemnation  of  the  lost,  the 
reception  of  saved  souls  into  bliss,  and  the  final 
states  of  heaven  and  hell.  These  main  subjects 
occupy  the  upper  spaces  of  each  wall,  while  below 
them  are  placed  portraits  of  poets,  surrounded  by 


Ik; 
it  I 
cate 


fell 


ryth 


248  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

rich  and  fanciful  arabesques,  including  various  epi-  j  — 
sodes  from  Dante  and  antique  mythology.  Obeying 
the  spirit  of  the  fifteenth  century,  Signorelli  did  not  \ 
aim  at  what  may  be  termed  an  architectural  effect  in- 
his  decoration  of  this  building.  Each  panel  of  thei 
whole  is  treated  separately,  and  with  very  unequal, 
energy,  the  artist  seeming  to  exert  his  strength 
chiefly  in  those  details  which  made  demands  on  his 
profound  knowledge  of  the  human  form  and  his 
enthusiasm  for  the  nude.  The  men  and  women  of  i 
the  Resurrection,  the  sublime  angels  of  Heaven  and 
of  the  Judgment,  the  discoloured  and  degraded 
fiends  of  Hell,  the  magnificently  foreshortened 
clothed  figures  of  the  Fulminati,  the  portraits  in  the 
preaching  of  Antichrist,  reveal  Luca's  specific  quality 
as  a  painter,  at  once  impressively  imaginative  and 
crudely  realistic.  There  is  something  in  his  way  of 
regarding  the  world  and  of  reproducing  its  aspects 
which  dominates  our  fancy,  does  violence  to  our 
sense  of  harmony  and  beauty,  leaves  us  broken  and 
bewildered,  resentful  and  at  the  same  moment  en- 
thralled. He  is  a  power  which  has  to  be  reckoned 
with;  and  the  reason  for  speaking  about  him  at 
length  here  is  that,  in  this  characteristic  blending  of 
intense  vision  with  impassioned  realistic  effort  after 
truth  to  fact,  this  fascination  mingled  with  repulsion, 
he  anticipated  Michelangelo.  Deep  at  the  root  of 
all  Buonarroti's  artistic  qualities  lie  these  contra- 
dictions. Studying  Signorelli,  we  study  a  parallel 
psychological  problem.    The  chief  difference  between! 


Head  of  DELPHrc  Sibyl. 


synth 


plete 

otin 

lom 

Tl 


FRESCOES  AT   ORVIETO.  249 

fee  two  masters  lies  in  the  command  of  aesthetic 
synthesis,  the  constructive  sense  of  harmony,  which 
belonged  to  the  younger,  but  which  might,  we  feel, 
have  been  granted  in  like  measure  to  the  elder, 
had  Luca  been  born,  as  Michelangelo  was,  to  com- 
plete the  evolution  of  Italian  figurative  art,  instead 
of  marking  one  of  its  most  important  intermediate 
moments. 

The  decorative  methods  and  instincts  of  the  two 
men  were  closely  similar.  Both  scorned  any  ele- 
ment of  interest  or  beauty  which  was  not  strictly 
plastic — the  human  body  supported  by  architecture 
or  by  rough  indications  of  the  world  we  live  in. 
Signorelli  invented  an  intricate  design  for  ara- 
besque pilasters,  one  on  each  side  of  the  door  lead- 
ing from  his  chapel  into  the  Cathedral.  They  are 
painted  en  grisaille,  and  are  composed  exclusively  of 
nudes,  mostly  male,  perched  or  grouped  in  a  marvel- 
lous variety  of  attitudes  upon  an  ascending  series  of 
slender-stemmed  vases,  which  build  up  gigantic  can- 
delabra by  their  aggregation.  The  naked  form  is 
treated  with  audacious  freedoin.     It  appears  to  be 


elastic  in  the  hands  of  the  modeller.  Some  dead 
bodies  carried  on  the  backs  of  brawny  porters  are 
even  awful  by  the  contrast  of  their  wet- clay  limpness 
with  the  muscular  energy  of  brutal  life  beneath  them. 
Satyrs  giving  drink  to  one  another,  fauns  whisper- 
ing in  the  ears  of  stalwart  women,  centaurs  trotting 
with  corpses  flung  across  their  cruppers,  combatants 
trampling  in  frenzy  upon  prostrate   enemies,   men 


25©  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

sunk  in  self-abandonment  to  sloth  or  sorrow — such 
are  the  details  of  these  incomparable  columns,  where 
our  sense  of  the  grotesque  and  vehement  is  imme- 
diately corrected  by  a  perception  of  rare  energy  in 
the  artist  who  could  play  thus  with  his  plastic 
puppets. 

We  have  here  certainly  the  preludings  to  Michel- 
angelo's serener,  more  monumental  work  in  the  Sis- 
tine  Chapel.  The  leading  motive  is  the  same  in 
both  great  masterpieces.  It  consists  in  the  use  of 
the  simple  body,  if  possible  the  nude  body,  for  the 
expression  of  thought  and  emotion,  the  telling  of  a 
tale,  the  delectation  of  the  eye  by  ornamental  details. 
It  consists  also  in  the  subordination  of  the  female 
to  the  male  nude  as  the  symbolic  unit  of  artistic 
utterance.  Buonarroti  is  greater  than  Signorelli 
chiefly  through  that  larger  and  truer  perception  of 
aesthetic  unity  which  seems  to  be  the  final  outcome 
of  a  long  series  of  artistic  efforts.  The  arabesques, 
for  instance,  with  which  Luca  wreathed  his  portraits 
of  the  poets,  are  monstrous,  bizarre,  in  doubtful  taste. 
Michelangelo,  with  a  finer  instinct  for  harmony,  a 
deeper  grasp  on  his  own  dominant  ideal,  excluded 
this  element  of  quattrocento  decoration  from  his 
scheme.  Raffaello,  with  the  graceful  tact  essential 
to  the  style,  developed  its  crude  rudiments  into  the 
choice  forms  of  fanciful  delightfulness  which  charm 
us  in  the  Loggie. 

Signorelli  loved  violence.  A  large  proportion  of 
the  circular  pictures  painted  en  grisaille  on  thlse 


lecl 


, 


SIGNORELLFS   FORCE   AND  VIOLENCE.        251 

walls  represent  scenes  of  massacre,  assassination, 
torture,  ruthless  outrage.  One  of  them,  extremely 
spirited  in  design,  shows  a  group  of  three  execu- 
tioners hurling  men  with  millstones  round  their 
necks  into  a  raging  river  from  the  bridge  which 
spans  it.  The  first  victim  flounders  half  merged 
in  the  flood ;  a  second  plunges  head  foremost 
through  the  air;  the  third  stands  bent  upon  the 
parapet,  his  shoulders  pressed  down  by  the  varlets 
on  each  side,  at  the  very  point  of  being  flung  to 
death  by  drowning.  In  another  of  these  pictures 
a  man  seated  upon  the  ground  is  being  tortured  by 
the  breaking  of  his  teeth,  while  a  furious  fellow 
holds  a  club  suspended  over  him,  in  act  to  shatter 
his  thigh-bones.  Naked  soldiers  wrestle  in  mad 
conflict,  whirl  staves  above  their  heads,  fling  stones, 
displaying  their  coarse  muscles  with  a  kind  of  frenzy. 
Even  the  classical  subjects  sufier  from  extreme 
dramatic  energy  of  treatment.  Ceres,  seeking  her 
daughter  through  the  plains  of  Sicily,  dashes  fran- 
tically on  a  car  of  dragons,  her  hair  dishevelled  to 
the  winds,  her  cheeks  gashed  by  her  own  crooked 
luded?  fingers.  Eurydice  struggles  in  the  clutch  of  bestial 
D  hisj  devils ;  Pluto,  like  a  mediaeval  Satan,  frowns  above  the 
ential!  scene  of  fiendish  riot;  the  violin  of  Orpheus  thrills 
faintly  through  the  infernal  tumult.  Gazing  on  the 
spasms  and  convulsions  of  these  grim  subjects,  we 
are  inclined  to  credit  a  legend  preserved  at  Orvieto 
to  the  efl'ect  that  the  painter  depicted  his  own 
unfaithful   mistress  in   the   naked   woman   who   is 


252  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

being  borne  on  a  demon's  back  through  the  air  to 
heU. 

No  one  who  has  studied  Michelangelo  impartially 
will  deny  that  in  this  preference  for  the  violent  he 
came  near  to  Signorelli.  We  feel  it  in  his  choice 
of  attitude,  the  strain  he  puts  upon  the  lines  of 
plastic  composition,  the  stormy  energy  of  his  con- 
ception and  expression.  It  is  what  we  call  his 
terribilitd.  But  here  again  that  dominating  sense 
of  harmony,  that  instinct  for  the  necessity  of  sub- 
ordinating each  artistic  element  to  one  strain  of 
architectonic  music,  which  I  have  already  indicated 
as  the  leading  note  of  difference  between  him  and 
the  painter  of  Cortona,  intervened  to  elevate  his 
terribleness  into  the  region  of  sublimity.  The 
violence  of  Michelangelo,  unlike  that  of  Luca,  lay 
not  so  much  in  the  choice  of  savage  subjects 
(cruelty,  ferocity,  extreme  physical  and  mental 
torment)  as  in  a  forceful,  passionate,  tempestuous 
way  of  handling  all  the  themes  he  treated.  The 
angels  of  the  Judgment,  sustaining  the  symbols 
of  Christ's  Passion,  wrestle  and  bend  their  agita- 
ted limbs  like  athletes.  Christ  emerges  from  the 
sepulchre,  not  in  victorious  tranquillity,  but  with 
the  clash  and  clangour  of  an  irresistible  energy  set 
free.  Even  in  the  Crucifixion,  one  leg  has  been 
wrenched  away  from  the  nail  which  pierced  its  foot, 
and  writhes  round  the  knee  of  the  other  still  left 
riven  to  the  cross.  The  loves  of  Leda  and  the  Swan, 
of  Ixion  and  Juno,  are  spasms  of  voluptuous  pain ; 


SIGNORELLI   AND   MICHELANGELO.  253 

|the  sleep  of  the  Night  is  troubled  with  fantastic 
dreams,  and  the  Dawn  starts  into  consciousness 
with  a  shudder  of  prophetic  anguish.  There  is  not  a 
hand,  a  torso,  a  simple  nude,  sketched  by  this  exlra- 
I ordinary  master,  which  does  not  vibrate  with  nervous 
tension,  as  though  the  fingers  that  grasped  the  pen 
were  clenched  and  the  eyes  that  viewed  the  model 
glowed  beneath  knit  brows.  Michelangelo,  in  fact, 
saw  nothing,  felt  nothing,  interpreted  nothing,  on 
exactly  the  same  lines  as  any  one  who  had  preceded 
or  who  followed  him.  His  imperious  personality  he 
stamped  upon  the  smallest  trifle  of  his  work. 

Luca's  frescoes  at  Orvieto,  when  compared  with 
Michelangelo's  in  the  Sistine,  mark  the  transition 
from  the  art  of  the  fourteenth,  through  the  art  of 
the  fifteenth,  to  that  of  the  sixteenth  century,  with 
broad  and  trenchant  force.  They  are  what  Mar- 
lowe's dramas  were  to  Shakespeare's.  They  retain 
much  of  the  mediaeval  tradition  both  as  regards  form 
and  sentiment.  We  feel  this  distinctly  in  the  treat- 
ment of  Dante,  whose  genius  seems  to  have  exerted  at 
least  as  strong  an  influence  over  Signorelli's  imagi- 
nation as  over  that  of  Michelangelo.  The  episodes 
from  the  Divine  Comedy  are  painted  in  a  rude 
Gothic  spirit.  The  spirits  of  Hell  seem  borrowed 
from  grotesque  bas-reliefs  of  the  Pisan  school.  The 
draped,  winged,  and  armed  angels  of  Heaven  are 
posed  with  a  ceremonious  research  of  suavity  or  gran- 
deur. These  and  other  features  of  his  work  carry 
us  back  to  the  period  of  Giotto  and  Niccol5  Pisano. 


254  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

But  the  true  force  of  the  man,  what  made  him  a 
commanding  master  of  the  middle  period,  what  dis- 
tinguished him  from  all  his  fellows  of  the  quattro- 
cento, is  the  passionate  delight  he  took  in  pure 
humanity — the  nude,  the  body  studied  under  all  its  [ 
aspects  and  with  no  repugnance  for  its  coarseness — 
man  in  his  crudity  made  the  sole  sufficient  object  for 
figurative  art,  anatomy  regarded  as  the  crowning  and 
supreme  end  of  scientific  exploration.  It  is  this  in 
his  work  which  carries  us  on  toward  the  next  age, 
and  justifies  our  calling  Luca  "  the  morning-star  of 
Michelangelo." 

It  would  be  wrong  to  ascribe  too  much  to  the 
immediate  influence  of  the  elder  over  the  younger 
artist — at  any  rate  in  so  far  as  the  frescoes  of  the 
Chapel  of  S.  Brizio  may  have  determined  the  creation 
of  the  Sistine.  Yet  Vasari  left  on  record  that  ^*  even 
Michelangelo  followed  the  manner  of  Signorelli,  as 
any  one  may  see."  Undoubtedly,  Buonarroti,  while 
an  inmate  of  Lorenzo  de'  Medici's  palace  at  Florence, 
felt  the  power  of  Luca's  Madonna  with  the  naked 
figures  in  the  background ;  the  leading  motive  of 
which  he  transcended  in  his  Doni  Holy  Family.^ 
Probably  at  an  early  period  he  had  before  his  eyes 
the  bold  nudities,  uncompromising  designs,  and 
awkward  composition  of  Luca's  so-called  School  of 
Pan.^     In  like  manner,  we  may  be  sure  that  during 

1  Both  of  these  pictures  will  be  found  in  the  Ufl&zi. 

2  Now  in  the  Berlin  Museum.  The  picture  can  with  some  reason 
be  identified  with  a  tempera-painting  presented  to  Lorenzo  the  Mag- 
nificent by  Signorelli. 


IMPORTANCE   OF  THE   SISTINE   FRESCOES.    255 

his  first  visit  to  Rome  he  was  attracted  by  Signorelli's 
solemn  fresco  of  Moses  in  the  Sistine.  These  things 
were  sufficient  to  establish  a  link  of  connection  be- 
itween  the  painter  of  Cortona  and  the  Florentine 
jsculptor.    And  when  Michelangelo  visited  the  Chapel 

I  of  S.  Brizio,  after  he  had  fixed  and  formed  his  style 
(exhibiting  his  innate  force  of  genius  in  the  Pietk, 
the  Bacchus,  the  Cupid,  the  David,  the  statue  of 
Julius,  the  Cartoon  for  the  Battle  of  Pisa),  that  early 
bond  of  sympathy  must  have  been  renewed  and 
enforced.  They  were  men  of  a  like  temperament, 
and  governed  by  kindred  aesthetic  instincts.  Michel- 
angelo brought  to  its  perfection  that  system  of  work- 
ing wholly  through  the  human  form  which  Signorelli 
initiated.  He  shared  his  violence,  his  terribilitA,  his 
almost  brutal  candour.  In  the  fated  evolution  of 
Italian  art,  describing  its  parabola  of  vital  energy, 
Michelangelo  softened,  sublimed,  and  harmonised  his 
predecessor's  qualities.  He  did  this  by  abandoning 
Luca's  naivetes  and  crudities  ;  exchanging  his  savage 
transcripts  from  coarse  life  for  profoundly  studied 
idealisations  of  form ;  subordinating  his  rough  and 
casual  design  to  schemes  of  balanced  composition, 
based  on  architectural  relations ;  penetrating  the 
whole  accomplished  work,  as  he  intended  it  should 
36,  with  a  solemn  and  severe  strain  of  unifying 
intellectual  melody. 

Viewed  in  this  light,  the  vault  of  the  Sistine  and 
the  later  fresco  of  the  Last  Judgment  may  be  taken 
as  the  final  outcome  of  all  previous  Italian  art  upon 


256 


LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 


a  single  line  of  creative  energy,  and  that  line  th< 
one  anticipated  by  Luca  Signorelli.    In  like  mannerj 
the  Stanze  and  Loggie  of  the  Vatican  were  the  final 
outcome  of  the    same   process   upon   another  line] 
suggested  by  Perugino  and  Fra  Bartolommeo. 

Michelangelo  adapted  to  his  own  uses  and  beni 
to  his  own  genius  motives  originated  by  the  Pisani, 
Giotto,  Giacopo  della  Quercia,  Donatello,  MasaccioJ 
while  working  in  the  spirit  of  Signorelli.     He  fused! 
and  recast  the  antecedent  materials  of  design  in  sculp- 
ture and  painting,  producing  a  quintessence  of  art 
beyond  which  it  was  impossible  to  advance  without 
breaking  the  rhythm,  so  intensely  strung,  and  with- 
out contradicting  too  violently  the  parent  inspiration] 
He  strained  the  chord  of  rhythm  to  its  very  utmostj 
and  made  incalculable  demands  upon  the  religious 
inspiration  of  its  predecessors.     His  mighty  taleni 
was  equal  to  the  task  of  transfusion  and  remodellin| 
which  the  exhibition  of  the  supreme  style  demanded.j 
But  after  him  there  remained  nothing  for  successors 
left  except  mechanical  imitation,  soulless  rehandlin< 
of  themes  he  had  exhausted  by  reducing  them  to  his 
imperious  imagination  in  a  crucible  of  fiery  intensity.! 


V. 


No  critic  with  a  just  sense  of  phraseology  woul< 
call  Michelangelo  a  colourist  in  the  same  way  as 


One  of  the  Genii 


SCHEME  OF  COLOUR.  257 

Titian  and  Rubens  were  colourists.  Still  it  cannot 
be  denied  with  justice  that  the  painter  of  the  Sistine 
had  a  keen  perception  of  what  his  art  required  in  this 
region,  and  of  how  to  attain  it.  He  planned  a  compre- 
hensive architectural  scheme,  which  served  as  setting 
and  support  for  multitudes  of  draped  and  undraped 
human  figures.  The  colouring  is  kept  deliberately 
low  and  subordinate  to  the  two  main  features  of  the 
design-— architecture,  and  the  plastic  forms  of  men 
and  women.  Flesh-tints,  varying  from  the  strong 
red  tone  of  Jonah's  athletic  manhood,  through  the 
glowing  browns  of  the  seated  Genii,  to  the  delicate 
carnations  of  Adam  and  the  paler  hues  of  Eve ; 
orange  and  bronze  in  draperies,  medallions,  deco- 
rative nudes ;  russets  like  the  tints  of  dead  leaves ; 
lilacs,  cold  greens,  blue  used  sparingly ;  all  these 
colours  are  dominated  and  brought  into  harmony  by 
the  greys  of  the  architectural  setting.  It  may  indeed 
be  said  that  the  different  qualities  of  flesh-tints,  the 
architectural  greys,  and  a  dull  bronzed  yellow  strike 
the  chord  of  the  composition.  Eeds  are  conspicuous 
by  their  absence  in  any  positive  hue.  There  is  no 
vermilion,  no  pure  scarlet  or  crimson,  but  a  mixed 
tint  verging  upon  lake.  The  yellows  are  brought 
Qear  to  orange,  tawny,  bronze,  except  in  the  hair  of 
jrouthful  personages,  a  large  majority  of  whom  are 
)londe.  The  only  colour  which  starts  out  staringly  is 
ultramarine,  owing  of  course  to  this  mineral  material 
resisting  time  and  change  more  perfectly  than  the 
pigments  with  which  it  is  associated.     The  whole 

VOL.  h  jj 


258  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 


I 


scheme  leaves  a  grave  harmonious  impression  on  the 
mind,  thoroughly  in  keeping  with  the  sublimity  of 
the  thoughts  expressed.  No  words  can  describe  the  I 
beauty  of  the  flesh-painting,  especially  in  the  figures 
of  the  Genii,  or  the  technical  delicacy  with  which 
the  modelling  of  limbs,  the  modulation  from  one 
tone  to  another,  have  been  carried  from  silvery 
transparent  shades  up  to  the  strongest  accents. 


k 


VI. 


BO 

boi 
lis 


Ita 


iiou 


Mr.  Ruskin  has  said,  and  very  justly  said,  that 
'*  the  highest  art  can  do  no  more  than  rightly  repre- 
sent the  human  form."  ^  This  is  what  the  Italians 
of  the  Renaissance  meant  when,  through  the  mouths 
of  Ghiberti,  Buonarroti,  and  Cellini,  they  proclaimed 
that  the  perfect  drawing  of  a  fine  nude,  "un  bel 
corpo  ignudo,"  was  the  final  test  of  mastery  in  plastic 
art.  Mr.  Ruskin  develops  his  text  in  sentences  which 
have  peculiar  value  from  his  lips.  '*  This  is  the 
simple  test,  then,  of  a  perfect  school — that  it  has 
represented  the  human  form  so  that  it  is  impossible  m 
to  conceive  of  its  being  better  done.  And  that,  I 
repeat,  has  been  accomplished  twice  only:  once  inlfj 
Athens^  once  in  Florence.  And  so  narrow  is  theL 
excellence  even  of  these  two  exclusive  schools,  that  lig^ 
it  cannot  be  said  of  either  of  them  that  they  repre-  \\^ 

1  Aratra  Penteliciy  ed.  1872,  p.  180  (Section  183  of  the  Lectures).         ''loi-g 


GREEK   AND   TUSCAN   IDEALS   OF   FORM.     259 

sented  the  entire  human  form.  The  Greeks  per- 
ifectly  drew  and  perfectly  moulded  the  body  and 
iimbs,  but  there  is,  so  far  as  I  am  aware,  no  instance 
Df  their  representing  the  face  as  well  as  any  great 

■ttalian.  On  the  other  hand,  the  Italian  painted  and 
arved  the  face  insuperably;  but  I  believe  there  is 
10  instance  of  his  having  perfectly  represented  the 
)ody,  which,  by  command  of  his  religion,  it  became 
lis  pride  to  despise  and  his  safety  to  mortify." 

We  need  not  pause  to  consider  whether  the 
talian's  inferiority  to  the  Greek's  in  the  plastic 
nodelling  of  human  bodies  was  due  to  the  artist's 
►wn  religious  sentiment.  That  seems  a  far-fetched 
explanation  for  the  shortcomings  of  men  so  frankly 
ealistic  and  so  scientifically  earnest  as  the  masters 
f  the  Cinque  Cento  were.  Michelangelo's  magnifi- 
ent  cartoon  of  Leda  and  the  Swan,  if  it  falls  short 
f  some  similar  subject  in  some  gabinetto  segreto  of 
ntique  fresco,  does  assuredly  not  do  so  because 
he  draughtsman's  hand  faltered  in  pious  dread  or 
ious  aspiration.  Nevertheless,  Ruskin  is  right  in 
slling  us  that  no  Italian  modelled  a  female  nude 
jqual  to  the  Aphrodite  of  Melos,  or  a  male  nude 
qual  to  the  Apoxyomenos  of  the  Braccio  Nuovo. 
le  is  also  right  in  pointing  out  that  no  Greek  sculp- 
br  approached  the  beauty  of  facial  form  and  ex- 
ression  which  we  recognise  in  RafFaello's  Madonna 
1  San  Sisto,  in  Sodoma's  S.  Sebastian,  in  Guercino's 

iielhrist  at   the    Corsini    Palace,    in    scores    of  early 
lorentine   sepulchral  monuments  and  pictures,  in 


^ 


/ 


260  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

Umbrian  saints  and   sweet  strange  portrait-fancies 
by  Da  Vinci. 

/•  The  fact  seems  to  be  that  Greek  and  Italian  plastic 
J>  art  followed  different  lines  of  development,  owing  to 
7  the  difference  of  dominant  ideas  in  the  races,  and 
V,  to  the  difference  of  social  custom.  Religion  natur- 
ally played  a  foremost  part  in  the  art-evolution  of 
both  epochs.  The  anthropomorphic  Greek  mythology 
encouraged  sculptors  to  concentrate  their  „ attention 
ugon  what  Hegel  called  *^the  sensnaus  manifesta:^ 
tion  of  the  idea,'*  while  Greek  habits  rendered  them 
familiar  with  the  body  frankly  exhibited.  Mediaeval 
religion  withdrew  Italian  sculptors  and  painters  from 
the  problems  of  purely  physical  form,  and  obliged 
them  to  study  the  expression  of  sentiments  and 
aspirations  which  could  only  be  rendered  by  em- 
phasising psychical  qualities  revealed  through  phy-i 
siognomy.  At  the  same  time,  modern  habits  of  life 
removed  the  naked  body  from  their  ken. 

We  may  go  further,  and  observe  that  the  condi- 
tions under  which  Greek  art  flourished  developed 
what  the  Germans  call  "  Allgemeinheit,"  a  tendency 
to  generalise,  which  was  inimical  to  strongly  marked 
facial  expression  or  characterisation.  The  cpndi:i 
tions  of  Italian  art,  on  the  other  hand,  favoured  ar 
opposite  tendency-^-toparticularise,  to  enforce  detail 
to  emphasise  the  artist's  own  ideal  or  the  model* j| 
qualify."  When  the^ype  of  a  Greek  deity  had  beei 
fixed,  each  successive  master  varied  this  within  thJ 
closest  limits  possible.     For  centuries  the  type  re|le 


y- 


GREEK   AND   MODERN   RELIGIOUS   IDEAS.     261 

mained  fundamentally  unaltered,  undergoing  subtle 
transformations,  due  partly  to  the  artist's  tempera- 
ment, and  partly  to  changes  in  the  temper  of  society 
Consequently  those  aspects  of  the  human  form  which 
are  capable  of  most  successful  generalisation,  the  body 
and  the  limbs,  exerted  a  kind  of  conventional  tyranny 
over  Greek  art.  ^And  Greek  artists  applied  to  the 
face  the  same  rules  of  generalisation  which  were 
applicable  to  the  body^^ 

'  The  Greek  god  or  goddess  was  a  sensuous  mani- 
festation of  the  idea,  a  particle  of  universal  godhood 
incarnate  in  a  special  fleshly  form,  corresponding  to 
the  particular  psychological  attributes  of  the  deity 
whom  the  sculptor  had  to  represent.  No  deviation 
jrom  the  generalised  type  was  possible.  The  Chris- 
tian God,  on  the  contrary,  is  a  spirit ;  and  all  the 
emanations  from  this  spirit,  whether  direct,  as  in  the 
person  of  Christ,  or  derived,  as  in  the  persons  of  the 
saints,  owe  their  sensuous  form  and  substance  to  the 
exigencies  of  mortal  existence,  which  these  persons 
temporarily  and  phenomenally  obeyed.  Since,  then, 
cj  the  sensuous  manifestation  has  now  become  merely 
e(  symbolic,  and  is  no  longer  an  indispensable  investi- 
li  ture  of  the  idea,  rb  may  be^ltfixed-atujrilLin-Clm 
ai  ti^m^^rt  wifhnnf.  irrpvpvpT|(>,p  The  utmost  capacity 
il  of  the  artist  is  now  exerted,  jiot^in  enforcing  or 
I'i  refining__a — gpnprnlispd  ^yp^,  but  in  discovering 
ei  some  joew  facial_express[oD_whichj;hall  reveal  psy- 
lii  chological  quality  in  a  particular  being.  Doing  so, 
re  he  inevitably  insists   upon   the   face ;    and   having 


¥ 


262  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO.  i 

formed  a  face  expressive  of  some  defined  quality,  he 
can  hardly  give  to  the  body  that  generalised  beauty 
which  belongs  to  a  Greek  nymph  or  athlete. 

What  we  mean  by  the  differences  between  Classic 
and  E-omantic  art  lies  in  the  distinctions  I  am  drawing. 
Classicism  sacrifices  character  to  breadth.  Roman- 1 if 
ticism  sacrifices  breadth  to  character.  Classic  art 
deals  more  triumphantly  with  the  body,  because  the 
body  gains  by  being  broadly  treated.  E-omantic  art 
deals  more  triumphantly  with  the  face,  because  the 
features  lose  by  being  broadly  treated. 

This  brings  me  back  to  Mr.  Ruskin,  who,  in 
another  of  his  treatises,  condemns  Michelangelo 
for  a  want  of  variety,  beauty,  feeling,  in  his  heads 
and  faces.  Were  this  the  case,  Michelangelo  would 
have  little  claim  to  rank  as  one  of  the  world's  chief 
artists.  We  have  admitted  that  the  Italians  did  not 
produce  such  perfectly  beautiful  bodies  and  limbs 
as  the  Greeks  did,  and  have  agreed  that  the  Greeks 
produced  less  perfectly  beautiful  faces  than  the 
Italians.  Suppose,  then,  that  Michelangelo  failed  in 
his  heads  and  faces,  he,  being  an  Italian,  and  there- 
fore confessedly  inferior  to  the  Greeks  in  his  bodies 
and  limbs,  must,  by  the  force  of  logic,  emerge  less 
meritorious  than  we  thought  him. 


MAL£  AND   FEMAL1S   BEAUTY.  267 

we  discover  more  or  less  affinity  for  man  or  woman. 
One  is  swayed  by  woman  and  her  gracefulness,  the 
other  by  man  and  his  vigour.  Few  have  realised 
the  Pheidian  perfection  of  doing  equal  justice. 

JVrif.hftl^np^eln  emerp^es  as  a  mighty  master  who 
was  dominated,  by  the  vision  of  male  beauty,  and 
who  saw  the  female  mainly  through  the  fascination 
of  the  other  sex.  The  defect  of  his  art  is  due  to  a 
certain  constitutional  callousness,  a  want  of  sensuous 
or  imaginative  sensibility  for  what  is  specifically 
feminine. 

Not  a  single  woman  carved  or  painted  by  the 
hand  of  Michelangelo  has  the  charm  of  early  youth 
or  the  grace  of  virginity.  The  Eve  of  the  Sistine, 
the  Madonna  of  S.  Peter's,  the  Night  and  Dawn  of 
the  Medicean  Sacristy,  are  female  in  the  anatomy  of 
their  large  and  grandly  modelled  forms,  but  not  femi- 
nine in  their  sentiment.  This  proposition  requires 
no  proof.  It  is  only  needful  to  recall  a  Madonna  by 
Raphael,  a  Diana  by  Correggio,  a  Leda  by  Lionardo, 
a  Venus  by  Titian,  a  S.  Agnes  by  Tintoretto.  We 
find  ourselv^s-4BanLediately  in  a~  different  region — ^ 
the  region  of~-axtists-^h<r'ioved,  admired,  and  com-j 
prehendedjwhat^s^fpnmjne  in  the  beauty  and  the/ 
temperamentofwomen.  j  Michelangelo  neither  loved, 
nor  admired^-nor  yielded  to  the  female  sex.  j  There- 
fore he  could  not  deal  plastically  with  what  is  best 
and  loveliest  in  the  female  formal  jHis  plastic  ideal 
of  the  woman  is  masculineT^  iHe  builds  a  colossal 
frame  of  musclerbone,  and  flesh,  studied  with  supreme 


268  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

anatomical  science,.  He  gives  to  Eve  the  full  pelvis 
and  enormfiils_Jiaiinches  of  an  adult  matron.;  It 
might  here  be  urged  that  he  chose  to  symbolise  the 
fecundity  of  her  who  was  destined  to  be  the  mothei 
of  the  human  race.  But  if  this  was  his  meaning, 
why  did  he  not  make  Adam  a  corresponding  symbo 
of  fatherhood  ?  Adam  is  an  adolescent  man,  colossa 
in  proportions,  but  beardless,  hairless  ;  the  attributes 
of  sex  in  him  are  developed,  but  not  matured  by  usei 
The  Night,  for  whom  no  symbolism  of  maternity  wai 
needed,  is  a  woman  who  has  passed  through  mam 
pregnancies.  Those  deeply  delved  wrinkles  on  th 
vast  and  flaccid  abdomen  sufficiently  indicate  this 
Yet  when  we  turn  to  Michelangelo's  sonnets  oi 
Night,  we  find  that  he  habitually  thought  of  her  a 
'6i^almysterioxts^  and  shadowy  being,  whose  influence 
^i^)  „  though  4)0_tent  for  the  soul,  disappeared  before  th 
y.^  frailest  of  all  creatures  bearing  light.!    The  Dawn 

ii'^"'^^^  again,  in  her  deep  lassitude,  has  nothing  of  verna 
freshness.  Built  upon  the  same  type  as  the  Night 
she  looks  like  Messalina  dragging  herself  fror 
heavy  slumber,  for  once  satiated  as  well  as  tirec 
stricken  for  once  with  the  conscience  of  disgust 
[When  he  chose  to  depict  the  acts  of  passion  or  c 
sensual  pleasure,  a  similar  want  of  sympathy  wit 
what  is  feminine  in  womanhood  leaves  an  evei 
more  discordant  impression  on  the  mind." .  I  woul 

^  Sonnets  xlii.-xliv.  It  is  possible  that  a  line  in  the  first  of  the, 
sonnets  may  throw  some  light  upon  the  symbolism  of  La  Notte  :  "  \ 
I'ombra  sol  a  piantar  1'  uomo  serve." 


n 


THE   FEMALE   TYPE   IN    MICHELANGELO.     269 

'elvii  base  the  proof  of  this  remark  upon  the  marble  Leda 
Ilbf  the  Bargello  Museum,  and  an  old  engraving  of 
k  Ixion  claspi^g  the  phantom  of  Juno  under  the  form 
)t!iei  of  a  cloud.^     In  neither  case  do  we  possess  Michel- 
angelo's own   handiwork ;    he  must  not,  therefore, 
be  credited  with  the  revolting  expression,  as  of  a 
drunken   profligate,  upon   the  face  of  Leda.     Yet 
in  both  cases  he  is  indubitably  responsible  for  the 
general  design,  and  for  the  brawny  carnality  of  the 
repulsive  woman. (/^ I  find  it  difficult  to  resist  the   Jf 
anjf 

tkto  treat  women  as  though  they  were  another  and 
liis.  less  graceful  sort  of  malesT^  The  sentiment  of  woman, 
on,  what  really  distinguishes  the  sex,  whether  volup- 
ra^tudusly  or  passionately  or  poetically  apprehended, 
ice  emerges  in  no  eminent  instance  of  his  work.     There 

tilf'  1  The  history  of  the  Leda  will  be  found  in  Chapter  IX.  of  this  work. 
I  should  have  preferred  to  cite  the  Cartoon  at  Burlington  House,  or 

_^j|  the  picture  in  the  National  Gallery,  were  they  not  practically  unknown 
to  the  public.  There  are  many  repetitions  of  the  Leda  scattered 
through  Europe,  agreeing  in  the  general  lines  of  composition.  The 
print  of  Ixion  shows  him  in  the  act  of  embracing  a  herculean  woman, 
with  fierce  passion,  in  a  contorted  and  suggestive  attitude,  among 
the  clouds.  At  the  right  of  the  composition  above,  Juno  in  her  car 
is  seen  modelling  a  cloud-form.  Below  is  a  landscape  with  ruins, 
a  lion  couchant  on  a  marble  plinth,  a  stone  satyr  without  arms ;  also 
one  naked  man  crossing  a  torrent  on  a  withered  tree-trunk,  and  another 
clothed  praying  to  the  skies.  The  engraving  is  executed  in  the  manner 
of  Jacopo  Caraglio,  and  Perino  del  Vaga's  name  has  been  connected 
with  the  design.  Mr.  Louis  Fagan,  of  the  British  Museum,  to  whom  I 
wrote  for  information,  referred  me  to  Bartsch,  vol.  xx.  p.  99,  No.  i.  It 
is  impossible,  I  think,  that  any  one  but  Michelangelo  should  have  been 
the  originator  of  the  conception.  We  know  from  Vasari  that  Perino 
del  Vaga  was  a  diligent  student  of  Michelangelo's  works,  and  that  he 
was  an  associate  of  his  familiar  friend  Piloto. 


2  70  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

is  a  Cartoon  at  Naples  for  a  Bacchante,  which 
Bronzino  transferred  to  canvas  and  coloured.  This 
design  illustrates  the  point  on  which  I  am  insisting. 
An  athletic  circus-rider  of  mature  years,  with  abnor- 
mally developed  muscles,  might  have  posed  as  model 
for  this  female  votary  of  Dionysus.  Before  he  made 
this  drawing,  Michelangelo  had  not  seen  those 
frescoes  of  the  dancing  Bacchantes  from  Pompeii ; 
nor  had  he  perhaps  seen  the  Maenads  on  Greek 
bas-reliefs  tossing  wild  tresses  backwards,  swaying 
virginal  lithe  bodies  to  the  music  of  the  tambourine. 
We  must  not,  therefore,  compare  his  concept  with 
those  masterpieces  of  the  later  classical  imagination. 
Still,  many  of  his  contemporaries,  vastly  inferior  to 
him  in  penetrative  insight,  a  Giovanni  da  Udine,  a 
Perino  del  Vaga,  a  Primaticcio,  not  to  speak  of 
Raffaello  or  of  Lionardo,  felt  what  the  charm  of 
youthful  womanhood  upon  the  revel  might  be.  He 
remained  insensible  to  the  melody  of  purely  feminine 
lines ;  and  the  only  reason  why  his  transcripts  from 
the  female  form  are  not  gross  like  those  of  Flemish 
painters,  repulsive  like  Rembrandt's,  fleshly  like 
Eubens's,  disagreeable  like  the  drawings  made 
by  criminals  in  prisons,  is  that  they  have  little 
womanly  about  them. 

Lest  these  assertions  should  appear  too  dogmatic, 
I  will  indicate  the  series  of  works  in  which  I  recog- 
nise Michelangelo's  sympathy  with  genuine  female 
quality.  All  the  domestic  groups,  composed  of 
women   and   children,   which   fill  the  lunettes  and 


HIS   DEFECTS   AND   QUALITIES.  271 

groinings  between  the  windows  in  the  Sistine  Chapel, 
have  a  charming  twilight  sentiment  of  family  life  or 
maternal  affection.  They  are  among  the  loveliest  and 
most  tranquil  of  his  conceptions.  The  Madonna 
above  the  tomb  of  Julius  II.  cannot  be  accused  of 
masculinity,  nor  the  ecstatic  figure  of  the  Eachel 
beneath  it.  Both  of  these  statues  represent  what 
Goethe  called  "  das  ewig  Weibliche  "  under  a  truly 
felt  and  natural  aspect.  The  Delphian  and  Erythrean 
Sibyls  are  superb  in  their  majesty.  Again,  in  those 
numerous  designs  for  Crucifixions,  Depositions  from 
the  Cross,  and  Pietks,  which  occupied  so  much  of 
Michelangelo's  attention  during  his  old  age,  we  find 
an  intense  and  pathetic  sympathy  with  the  sorrows 
of  Mary,  expressed  with  noble  dignity  and  a  pious 
sense  of  godhead  in  the  human  mother^^  It  will  be 
remarked  that^throughout  the  cases  I  h^V^  reserved 
as  exceptiopfsi  it  is  not  woman  in  her  plastic  beauty 
and  her  radmnf' charm  that  Michelangelo  has  ren- 
dered, but  woman  in  her  tranquil  or  her  saddened 
and  sorrow-stricken  moods.  1  What  he  did  not  com- 
prehend and  could  not  represent  was  woman  in 
her  girlishness,  her  youthful  joy,  her  physical  attrac- 
tiveness, her  magic  of  seduction./ 

(Michelangelo's  women  suggest  demonic  primitive 
beings,  composite  and  undetermined  products  of  the 
human  race  in  evolution,  before  the  specific  qualities 
of  sex  have  been  eliminated  from  a  general  predomi- 
nating mass  of  masculinitjjj  At  their  best,  they  carry 
us  into  the  realm  of  Lucretian  imagination.      He 


272  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

could  not  have  incarnated  in  plastic  form  Shake- 
speare's Juliet  and  Imogen,  Dante's  Francesca  da 
Eimini,  Tasso's  Erminia  and  Clorinda ;  but  he 
might  have  supplied  a  superb  illustration  to  the 
opening  lines  of  the  Lucretian  epic,  where  Mars 
lies  in  the  bed  of  Venus,  and  the  goddess  spreads 
her  ample  limbs  above  her  Roman  lover.  He  might 
have  evoked  images  tallying  the  vision  of  primal 
passion  in  the  fourth  book  of  that  poem.^  As  I  have 
elsewhere  said,  writing  about  Lucretius :  "  There  is 
something  almost  tragic  in  these  sighs  and  pantings 
and  pleasure-throes,  these  incomplete  fruitions  of 
souls  pent  within  their  frames  of  flesh.  We  seem 
to  see  a  race  of  men  and  women  such  as  never  lived, 
except  perhaps  in  Eome  or  in  the  thought  of  Michel- 
angelo, meeting  in  leonine  embracements  that  yield 
pain,  whereof  the  climax  is,  at  best,  relief  from 
rage  and  respite  for  a  moment  from  consuming  fire. 
There  is  a  life  elemental  rather  than  human  in  those 
mighty  limbs ;  and  the  passion  that  twists  them  on 
the  marriage-bed  has  in  it  the  stress  of  storms,  the 
rampings  and  roarings  of  leopards  at  play.  Take 
this  single  line  : — 

et  Venus  in  silvis  jungebat  corpora  amantum. 


What  a  picture  of  primeval  breadth  and  vastness! 
The  forest  is  the  world,  and  the  bodies  of  the  lovers 
are  things  natural  and  unashamed,  and  Venus  is 

1  De  jRervm  Natura,  iv.  1037- 1208. 


I 


Q 


o 

Q 


THE   MALE   TYPE   IN   MICHELANGELO.       273 

he  tyrannous  instinct  that  controls   the  blood  in 
spring."  ^ 

What  makes  Michelangelo's  crudity  in  his  plastic 
xeatment  of  the  female  form  the  more  remarkable 
is  that  in  his  poetry  he  seems  to  feel  the  influence 
of  women  mystically.  I  shall  have  to  discuss  this 
topic  in  another  place.  It  is  enough  here  to  say 
that,  with  very  few  exceptions,  we  remain  in  doubt 
whether  he  is  addressing  a  woman  at  all.  There  are 
Qone  of  those  spontaneous  utterances  by  which  a 
man  involuntarily  expresses  the  outgoings  of  his 
heart  to  a  beloved  object,  the  throb  of  irresistible 
emotion,  the  physical  ache,  the  sense  of  wanting, 
he  joys  and  pains,  the  hopes  and  fears,  the  ecsta- 
sies and  disappointments,  which  belong  to  genuine 
passion,  (^^e  woman  is,  for  him,  an  allegory,  some- 
hing  he  has  not  approached  and  handle^  Of  her 
personality  we  learn  nothing.  Of  her  bodily  pre- 
sentment, the  eyes  alone  are  mentioned  ;  and  the 
yes  are  treated  as  the  path  to  Paradise  for  souls 
which  seek  emancipation  from  the  flesh.  Raffaello's 
few  and  far  inferior  sonnets  vibrate  with  an  intense 
md  potent  sensibility  to  this  woman  or  to  that, 
ffichelangelo's  *' donna"  might  just  as  well  be  a 
San  ;N  and  indeed  the  poems  he  addressed  to  men, 
chough  they  have  nothing  sensual  about  them,  reveal 
I  finer  touch  in  the  emotion  of  the  writer.  It  is 
iifficult  to  connect  this  vaporous  incorporeal  "donna'' 
3f  the  poems  with  those  brawny  colossal  adult  females 

^  Sketches  and  Studies  in  Italy,  Article  ou  Lucretius. 
VOL.  I.  a 


274  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

of  the  statues,  unless  we  suppose  thaf  Michelangek 
remained  callous  both  to  the  physical  attraction 
and  the -^motional  distinction  of  woman  as  she 
actually  isfj], 

C  I  have  tried  to  demonstrate  that,  plastically,  he 
did  not  understand  women,  and  could  not  reproduce 
their  form  in  art  with  sympathetic  feeling  for  iti 
values  of  grace,  suavity,  virginity,  and  frailty,J(  He! 
imported  mascuHpe  qualities  into  every  female  theme 
he  handled,]/] The  case  is  different  when  we  turn  tc 
his  treatment  of  the  male  figure.  It  would  be  im 
possible  to  adduce  a  single  instance,  out  of  th 
many  hundreds  of  examples  furnished  by  his  work 
in  which  a  note  of  femininity  has  been  added  to  th 
masculine  type.^  He  did  not  think  enough  of  womei 
to  reverse  the  process,  and  create  hermaphroditi* 
beings  like  the  ApoUino  of  Praxiteles  or  the  S 
Sebastian  of  Sodoma.  (His  boys  and  youths  anc 
adult  men  remain^  in  the  truest  and  the  purest  sens* 
of  the  word,  virileri  Yet  with  what  infinite  variety 
with  what  a  deep  intelligence  of  its  resources,  witl 
what  inexhaustible  riches  of  enthusiasm  and  science 
he  played  upon  the  lyre  of  the  male  nude  !|^v~Hot 
far  more  fit  for  purposes  of  art  he  felt  the  man  U 
be  than  the  woman  is  demonstrated,  not  only  b; 
his  approaching  woman  from  the  masculine  side 
but  also  by  his  close  attention  to  none  but  maL 
qualities  in  men.^l  I  need  not  insist  or  enlarge 
upon  this  point.     The  fact  is  apparent  to  every  on* 

1  Except  occasionally  in  the  face  ;  in  the  body  and  the  limbs,  neveii 


ani 


et| 


IDEAL   OF   FORM:   FIRST   PERIOD.  275 

i^Nwith  eyes  to  see.     It  would  be  futile  to  expound 
°^  iMichelangelo's  fertility  in  dealing  with  the  motives 
of  the  male  figure  as  minutely  as  I  judged  it  neces- 
sary to  explain  the  poverty  of  his  inspiration  through 
^he  female.     But  it  ought  to  be  repeated  that,  over  the 
^^'  'whole  gamut  of  the  scale,  from  the  grace  of  boyhood, 
^through  the  multiform  delightfulness  of  adolescence 
into  the  firm  force  of  early  manhood,  and  the  sterner 
'%irtues  of  adult  age,   one    severe  and   virile  spirit 
^'controls  his  fashioning  of  plastic  forms.    \H,e  even 
exaggerates  what  is  masculine  in  the  male,  as  he 
^^'  caricatures  the  female  by  ascribing  impossible  virility 
^^^  to  her/^But  the  exaggeration  follows  here  a  line  of 
mental  and  moral  rectitude.     It  is  the  expression  of 

his  peculiar  sensibility  to  physical  strnc^;ure. 

itii 


IX. 


When  we  study  the  evolution  of  Michelangelo's 

ncideal  of  form,  we  find  at  the  beginning  of  his  life 

loi  a.  very  short  period  in  which  he  followed  the  tradi- 

1 1  bions  of  Donatello  and  imitated  Greek  work.     The 

seated  Madonna  in  bas-relief  and  the-^GlovaniiiQO 


id<  belong  to  this  first  stage.     So  does  the  bas-relief  of 


he  Centaurs.  It  soon  becomes  evident,  however,  that 
irj  Michelangelo  was  not  destined  to  remain  a  continu- 
011  itor  of  Donatello's  manner  or  a  disciple  of  the  classics. 
IT!  The    next    period,   which    includes    the    Madonna 


276  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

della  Febbre,  the  Bruges  Madonna,  the  Bacchus,  the 
Cupid,  and  the  David,  is  marked  by  an  intense 
search  after  the  truth  of  Nature.  Both  Madonnas 
might  be  criticised  for  unreality,  owing  to  the  enor- 
mous development  of  the  thorax  and  something  arti- 
ficial in  the  type  of  face.  But  all  the  male  figures 
seem  to  have  been  studied  from  the  model.  There 
is  an  individuality  about  the  character  of  each,  a! 
naturalism,  an  aiming  after  realistic  expression, 
which  separate  this  group  from  previous  and  subse- 
quent works  by  Buonarroti.  Traces  of  Donatello's 
influence  survive  in  the  treatment  of  the  long  large 
hands  of  David,  the  cast  of  features  selected  for  that 
statue,  and  the  working  of  the  feet.  Indeed  it  may 
be  said  that  Donatello  continued  through  life  to» 
affect  the  genius  of  Michelangelo  by  a  kind  of  sym- 
pathy, although  the  elder  master's  naivete  was  soon 
discarded  by  the  younger. 

The  second  'period  culminated  in  the  Cartoon 
for  the  Battle  of  Pisa.  This  design  appears  to 
have  fixed  the  style  now  known  to  us  as  Michel 
angelesque,  and  the  loss  of  it  is  therefore  irrepar 
able.  It  exercised  the  consummate  science_ghida 
he  had  acquired,  his  complete  mastpry  over  thft 
male  nude.  It  defined  his  firm  res_o]xa  to  treat 
Imear  design  from  the  point  of  view  of_sculptmq 
^tW^thaTi"of  painting  proper.  It  settled  his  deterj 
mination  to  work  exclusively  through  and  byth^ 
human  figure,  rejecting  all  subordinate  elements  oi 
decoration.     Had  we  possesse3~~tTiis  "epoch-makfnj 


i 


SECOND   AND   THIRD   PERIODS.  277 

piasterpiece,  we  should  probably  have  known  Michel- 
Sf  iangelo's  genius  in  its  flower-period  of  early  ripeness, 
ai  when  anatomical  learning  was  still  combined  witb^a 
)r  sustained  dependence  upon  Nature.     The  transition 
ti  Tom  the  second  to  the  tnird  stage'  in  this  develop- 
ment of  form-ideal  remains  imperfectly  explained, 
jecause  the  bathers  in  the  Arno  were  necessary  to 
iccount    for    the    difference   between   the    realistic 
David  and   the   methodically  studied  genii  of  the 
Sistine. 

The  vault  of  the  Sistine  shows  Michelangelo's  third 
□franner  in  perfection.  He  has  developed  what  may 
36  called  a  scheme  of  the,Jhuinan_form.  The  appar- 
mtly  small  head,  the  enormous  breadth  of  shoulder, 
;he  thorax  overweighin^  the  whole  figure,  the  finely 
inodelTed  legs,  the  large  and  powerful  extremities, 
wrhich  characterise  This  style^Eenceforward,  culminate 
!in~Sdam,  repeat  themselves^  throughout  the  genii, 
govern  the  prophets.  But  Natur^  has  not  been 
aeglected.  Nothing  is  more  remarkable  in  that  vast 
iecorative  mass  of  figures  than  the  variety  of  types 
selected,  the  beauty  and  animation  of  the  faces,  the 
extraordinary  richness,  elasticity,  and  freshness  of 
;he  attitudes  presented  to  the  eye.  Every  period 
3f  life  has  been  treated  with  impartial  justice,  and 
3oth  sexes  are  adequately  handled.  The  Delphian, 
Erythrean,  and  Libyan  Sibyls  display  a  sublinie 
sense  of  facial  beauty.  The  Eve  of  the  Temptation 
las  even  something  of  positively  feminine  charm. 
This  is  probably  due  to  the  fact  that  Michelangelo 


)or 
I 


278  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

here    studied    expression  and  felt  the   necessity  ofp 
dramatic  characterisation  in  this  part  of  his  work. 
He  struck  each  chord  of  what  may  be  called  the 
poetry  of  figurative   art,    from  the    epic  cantos    oflnai 
Creation,  Fall,  and  Deluge,  through  the  tragic  odes  crt^ 
uttered  by  prophets   and  sibyls,  down  to  the  lyric  10 
notes  of  the  genii,  and  the  sweet  idyllic  strains  of  I 
the  groups  in  the  lunettes  and  spandrels. 

It  cannot  be  said  that  even  here  Michelangelo 
felt  the  female  nude  as  sympathetically  as  he  feltfK 
jV  •  the  male.  The  women  in  the  picture  of  the  Deluge 
are  colossal  creatures,  scarcely  distinguishable  from 
tEe~men  except  by  their  huge  bosoms.  His  personal 
sense^r beauty  finds  fullest  expression  in  the  genii. 
The  variations  on  one  theme  of  youthful  loveliness  |  pi 
and  grace  are  inexhaustible ;  the  changes  rung  on  ' 
attitude,  and  face,  and  feature  are  endless.  The 
type,  as  I  have  said,  has  already  become  schematic. 
Tt^Jfi__nrln1pprpnt^  but-Jjie_  adolescence  is  neither  in 
that  of  the   Greek  athlete   nor  that   of  the    nude 


model.     Indeed,  it  is  hardly  natural;  nor  yet  is  it 
ideal  in  the  Greek  sense  of  that  term.     The  physic^.! 

^  I. r      ~  *^ 

gracefulness  of  a  slim  ephebus  was  neverseized  by 
Michelangela___His  <6ranyme^3e^ispTays  a  massive 
trunk  and  brawny  thighs,  pompare  this  with  the 
^\^  Ganymede  of  Titian.  Compare  the  Cupid  at  South 
Kensington  with  the  Praxitelean  Genius  of  the 
Vatican  —  the  Adonis  and  the  Bacchus  of  the 
Bargello  with  Hellenic  statues.  The  bulk  and 
force  of  maturity  are   combined  with  the  smooth- 


0C( 

tee 


k 


\m 


ABSTRACT   IMAGINATION.  279 

oi  Less  of  boyhood  and  with  a  delicacy  of  face   that 
)orders  on  the  feminine. 

It  is  an  arid  region,  the  region  of  this   mighty 
laaster's  spirit.     There  are  no  heavens  and  no  earth 


>r  sea  in  it ;  no  living  creatures,  forests,  flowers  ; 
10  bright  colours,  brilliant  lights,  or  cavernous 
[arks.  In  clear  grey  twilig:ht  appear  a  multitude, 
f  nakednpfm^T^oth  male 'aSdfemjIe,  yet  neither 
inale  nor  female  of  the  actual  world ;  rather  the 
prood  of  an  inventive  intellect,  teeming  with  pre- 
occupations of  abiding  thoughts  and  moods  of 
eeling,  which  become  for  it  incarnate  in  these 
tupendous  figures.  It  is  as  though  Michelangelo 
vorked  from  the  image  in  his  brain  outwards  to  a 
physical  presentment  supplied  by  his  vast  know- 
edge  of  life,  creating  forms  proper  to  his  own 
jipecific  concept.  Nowhere  else  in  plastic  art 
loes  the  mental  world  peculiar  to  the  master  press 
n  so  immediately,  without  modification  and  with- 
)ut  mitigation,  upon  our  sentient  imagination.  I 
5ometimes  dream  that  the  inhabitants  of  the  moon 
nay  be  like  Michelangelo's  men  and  women,  as  I 
!eel  sure  its  landscape  resembles  his  conception  of 
;he  material  universe. 

What  I  have  called  Michelangelo's  third  manner, 
|;he  purest  manifestation  of  which  is  to  be  found  in 
:he  vault  of  the  Sistine,  sustained  itself  for  a  period 
3f  many  years.  The  surviving  fragments  of  sculp- 
ture for  the  tomb  of  Julius,  especially  the  Captives 
Df  the  Louvre   and  the    statues  in  the  Sacristy  at 


i^o  LIFE  OF  MICHELANGELO. 

S.  Lorenzo,  belong  to  this  stage.  A  close  and  inti 
mate  rapport  with  Nature  can  be  perceived  in  all  the 
work  he  designed  and  executed  during  the  pontifi- 
cates of  Leo  and  Clement.  The  artist  was  at  hi 
fullest  both  of  mental  energy  and  physical  vigour 
What  he  wrought  now  bears  witness  to  his  pleni 
tude  of  manhood.  Therefore,  although  the  typ 
fixed  for  the^Sistine>prevailed — I  mean  that  gene 
ralisation  of  the  human  form  in  certain  wilfully 
selected  proportions,  conceived  to  be  ideally  beau^- 
tiful  or  necessary  for  the  grand  style  in  vast  archi 
tectonic  schemes  of  decoration— still  it  is  used  with 
an  exquisite  sensitiveness  to  the  pose  and  structure 
of  the  natural  body,  a  delicate  tact  in  the  defini- 
tion of  muscle  and  articulation,  an  acute  feeling  for 
the  qualities  of  flesh  and  texture.  None  of  the 
creations  of  this  period,  moreover,  are  devoid  of 
intense  animating  emotions  and  ideas. 

Unluckily,  during  all  the  years  which  intervened 
between  the  Sistine  vault  and  the  Last  Judgment, 
Michelangelo  was  employed  upon  architectural  pro- 
blems and  engineering  projects,  which  occupied] 
his  genius  in  regions  far  removed  from  that  of  figu- 
rative art.  It  may,  therefore,  be  asserted,  that  al- 
though he  did  not  retrograde  from  want  of  practice, 
he  had  no  opportunity  of  advancing  further  by  the 
concentration  of  his  genius  on  design.  This  ac- 
counts, I  think,  for  the  change  in  his  manner  which 
we  notice  when  he  began  to  paint  in  Kome  under 
Pope  Paul  JIT.     The  fourth  stage  in  his  development 


MICHELANGELO'S   ROMANTICISM.  263 


VII. 

To  many  of  my  readers  the  foregoing  section  will 
appear  superfluous,  polemical,  sophistic — three  bad 
things.  I  wrote  it,  and  I  let  it  stand,  however,  be- 
cause it  serves  as  preface  to  what  I  have  to  say  in 
^  general  about  Michelangelo's  ideal  of  form.  He  was 
es sentially  a  Romantic  as  opposed  to  a  Classic  artist. 
That  is  to  say,  he  sou^ht_invariahly  for  character — 
character  in  type,  character  in  attitude,  character 
in  every  action  of  each  muscle,  character  in  each 
extraya^nce  of  J)ose^  He  applied  the  Romantic 
principle  to  the  body  and  the  limbs,  exactly  to  that 
region  of  the  human  form  which  the  Greeks  had 
conquered  as  their  province.  He  did  so  with  con- 
summate science  and  complete  mastery  of  physiolo- 
gical law.  What  is  more,  he  compelled  the  bodsLto 
become  expressive,  not,  as^  the  Greeks  had  done,  of 
broad  general  conceptions,  but  of  the  most  intimate 
and  poignant  personal  emotions.  This  was  his  main 
originality.  At  the  same  time,  being  a  Romantic,  he 
deliberately  renounced  the  main  tradition  of  that 
manner.  He  refused  to  study  portraiture,  as  Vasari 
tells  us,  and  as  we  see  so  plainly  in  the  statues  of  the 
Dukes  at  Florence.  He  generalised  his  faces,  com- 
posing an  ideal  cast  of  features  out  of  several  types. 
In  the  rendering  of  the  face  and  head,  then,  he  chose 
to  be  a  Classic,  while  in  the  treatment  of  the  body  he 
was  vehemently  modern.     In  all  his  work  which  is 


264  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

not  meant  to  be  dramatic — that  is,  excluding  the 
damned  souls  in  the  Last  Judgment,  the  bust  of 
Brutus,  and  some  keen  psychological  designs — char- 
acter is  sacrificed  to  a  studied  ideal  of  form,  so  far 
as  the  face  is  concerned.  That  he  did  this  wilfully, 
on  principle,  is  certain.  The  proof  remains  in  the 
twenty  heads  of  those  incomparable  genii  of  the 
//^  J  Sistine,  each  one  of  whom  possesses  a  beauty  and 
a  quality  peculiar  to  himself  alon^.  They  show 
that,  if  he  had  so  chosen,  he  could  have  played 
upon  the  human  countenance  with  the  same  facility 
as  on  the  human  body,  varying  its  expressiveness 
ad  infinitum. 

Why  Michelangelo  preferred  to  generalise  the 
face  and  to  particularise  the  body  remains  a  secret 
buried  in  the  abysmal  deeps  of  his  personality.  In 
his  studies  from  the  model,  unlike  Lionardo,  he 
almost  always  left  the  features  vague,  while  working 
out  the  trunk  and  limbs  with  strenuous  passion.  He 
never  seems  to  have  been  caught  and  fascinated  by 
the  problem  offered  by  the  eyes  and  features  of  a 
male  or  female.  He  places  masks  or  splendid  com- 
monplaces upon  frames  palpitant  and  vibrant  with 
vitality  in  pleasure  or  in  anguish. 

In  order  to  guard  against  an  apparent  contra- 
diction, I  must  submit  that,  when  Michelangelo 
particularised  the  body  and  the  limbs,  he  strove  to 
make  thenrthe  symBoIs  of  some  definite  passion~6F 
\X-  ^motion^  He  seems  to  have  been  more  anxious 
about  the  suggestions  afforded  by  their  pose  and 


Male  Figure,  with  Proportions. 


HIS  ARBITRARY   CHOICE   OF  ATTITUDES.    265 

muscular  employment  than  he  was  about  the  expres- 
sion  of  the  features.  But  we  shall  presently  discover 
that,  so  far  as  pure  physical  type  is  concerned,  he 
early  began  to  generalise  the  structure  of  the  body, 
passing  finally  into  what  may  not  unjustly  be  called 
a  mannerism  of  form. 

These  points  may  be  still  further  illustrated  by 
what  a  competent  critic JSslrecently- written  xippn 
Michelangelo's  treatment_rf^  *'  No  one,"  says 

Professor  Briicke,  **ever  knew  so  well  as  Michel- 
angelo Buonarroti  how  to  produce  powerful  and 
strangely  harmonious  effects  by  means  of  figures  in 
themselves  open  to  criticism,  simply  by  his  mode  of 
placing  and  ordering  them,  and  of  distributing  their 
lines.  YoY  him  a  figure  existed  only  in  his  particular 
represe]it.at,inn  of  it;  hnvr  it  would  have  looked Jn 
any  other  position  was  a  matter  of  no  concern  to 
him."  We  may  even  gofuFther,  and.  maintain  that 
Michelangelo  was  sometimes  wilfully  indifferent  to 
the  physical  capacities  of  the  human  body  in  his 
passionate  research  of  attitudes  which  present  pic- 
turesque and  novel  beauty.^  Xk^-^SLC^ienls.. worked 
on  quite_a_differen.t  methoiL—They^cxeated  standard 
types  which,  in   every   conceivable   posture,  would 

1  The  Human  Figure;  its  Beauties  amd  Defects.  By  Ernest  BiUcke. 
English  translation.     London:  Grevel,  1891. 

^  I  have  tested  several  of  the  genii  of  the  Sistine  by  placing  an  ex- 
ceptionally supple  and  intelligent  model  exactly  in  their  attitudes.  It 
seemed  to  me  clear  that,  however  admirable  as  arrangements  of  lines 
and  suggestions  of  audacious  posture  they  may  be,  some  of  these  figures 
strain  the  possibilities  of  nature  beyond  their  limits. 


266  LIFE  OF   MICHELANGELO. 

pxTiihit;  t.hft  gra.cp  anrl  symmptry  belonging  to  well- 
proportioned  frames.  Michelangelo  looked  to  the 
effect  of  a  particular  posture.  He  may  have  been 
se3uced  by  his  habit  of  modelling  figures  in  clay 
instead  of  going  invariably  to  the  living  subject, 
and  so  may  have  handled  nature  with  unwarrantable 
freedom.  Anyhow,  we  have  here  another  demon- 
stration of  his  romanticism. 


VIII. 

The  true  test  of  the  highest  art  is  that  it  should 
rightly  represent  the  human_jorm>  Agreed  upon 
this  point,  it  remains  for  us  to  consider  in  what  way 
Michelangelo  conceived  and  represented  the  human 
form.  If  we  can  discover  his  ideal,  his  principles, 
his  leading  instincts  in  this  decisive  matter,  we  shall 
unlock,  so  far  as  that  is  possible,  the  secret  of  his 
personality  as  man  and  artist.  The  psychological 
quality  of  every  great  master  must  eventually  he 
determined  by  his  mode  of  dealing  with  the  pheno- 
mena of  sex. 

In  Pheidias  we  find  a  large  impartiality.  His 
men  and  women  are  cast  in  the  same  mould  of 
grandeur,  inspired  with  equal  strength  and  sweet- 
ness, antiphonal  notes  in  dual  harmony.  Praxiteles 
leans  to  the  female,  Lysippus  to  the  male ;  and  so,! 
through  all  the  gamut  of  the  figurative  craftsmen, 


Studies  from  the  Nude. 


THE  FOURTH   PERIOD.  281 

of  form  is  reached  now.  He  has  lost  nothing  of  his 
vigour,  nothing  of  his  science.  But  he  has  drifted 
away  from  Nature.  All  the  innumerable  figures  of 
the  Last  Judgment,  in  all  their  varied  attitudes, 
with  divers  moods  of  dramatic  expression,  are  dia- 
grams wrought  out  imaginatively  from  the  stored- 
up  resources  of  a  lifetime.  It  may  be  argued  that 
it  was  impossible  to  pose  models,  in  other  words,  to 
appeal  to  living  men  and  women,  for  the  foreshorten- 
ings  of  falling  or  soaring  shapes  in  that  huge  drift 
of  human  beings.  This  is  true;  and  the  strongest 
testimony  to  the  colossal  powers  of  observation 
possessed  by  Michelangelo  is  that  none  of  all  those 
attitudes  are  wrong.  We  may  verify  them,  if  we 
take  particular  pains  to  do  so,  by  training  the  sense 
of  seeing  to  play  the  part  of  a  detective  camera.^ 
Michelangelo  was  gifted  with  a  unique  faculty  for 
seizing  momentary  movements,  fixing  them  upon  his 
memory,  and  transferring  them  to  fresco  by  means 
of  his  supreme  acquaintance  with  the  bony  structure 
and  the  muscular  capacities  of  the  human  frame. 
Eegarded  from  this  point  of  view,  the  Last  Judg- 
ment was  an  unparalleled  success.  As  such  the 
contemporaries  of  Buonarroti  hailed  it.  Still,  the 
breath  of  life  has  exhaled  from  all  those  bodies,  and 
the  tyranny  of  the  schematic  ideal  of  form  is  felt  in 
each  of  them.     Without  meaning  to  be  irreverent, 

^  I  may  refer  here  to  an  article  I  published  on  "  Swiss  Athletic 
Sports"  ill  the  Fortnightly  Review  for  September  1891,  where  I  have 
handled  this  topic  more  at  length. 


282  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

we  might  fancy  that  two  elastic  lay-figures,  one 
male,  the  other  female,  both  singularly  similar  in 
shape,  supplied  the  materials  for  the  total  composi- 
tion. Of  the  dramatic  intentions  and  suggestions 
underlying  these  plastic  and  elastic  shapes  I  am 
not  now  speaking.  It  is  my  present  business  to 
establish  the  phases  through  which  my  master's 
sense  of  form  passed  from  its  cradle  to  its  grave.  ^ 
In  the  frescoes  of  the  Cappella  Paolina,  so  ruined 
at  this  day  that  we  can  hardly  value  them,  the 
mechanic  manner  of  the  fourth  stage  seems  to  reach 
its  climax.  Ghosts  of  their  former  selves,  they  still 
reveal  the  poverty  of  creative  and  spontaneous  inspi- 
ration which  presided  over  their  nativity. 

^  A  passage  from  Vasari's  introduction  explains  Miclielangelo's  waj 
of  dealing  with  figures  in  relief  and  foreshortenings.  He  says  that  "  it 
was  the  divine  master's  habit  to  make  little  models  of  clay  or  wax ;  and 
from  these,  because  they  keep  their  position  better  than  live  beings,  he 
drew  the  outlines,  lights,  and  shades  of  his  figures"  (Vasari,  vol.  i. 
p.  157).  It  is  probable  that  lie  used  this  method  while  designing  the 
Last  Judgment ;  for  many  postures  there  are  such  as  no  living  creature 
could  maintain  for  more  than  a  few  seconds.  Thus  he  brought  his 
profound  knowledge  of  anatomy  and  his  power  as  a  sculptor  into  the 
service  of  painting,  and  forced  the  art  of  painting  to  the  very  extreme 
verge  of  possibility.  What  strikes  us  as  manneristic  in  his  later  fresco- 
work  may  be  attributed  to  this  habit,  implying  the  great  man's  wish  to 
seize  and  perpetuate  movements  of  the  body  beyond  the  scope  of  a 
sincere  and  thorough  transcript  from  the  living  nude.  It  is  said  that 
Correggio  adopted  the  same  method  for  his  bold  foreshortenings  ;  and 
we  are  told  that  Tintoretto  drew  from  plastic  figures  suspended 
under  artificial  lighting.  Enthusiastic  study  of  the  works  produced  in 
this  way  by  masters  of  indubitable  genius  enabled  lesser  folk  to  play 
with  the  human  form  in  every  kind  of  hazardous  attitude,  and  led 
onward  to  that  decadence  with  which  we  connect  the  names  of  the 
Macchinesti. 


!  DRAWINGS   IN   OLD   AGE.  283 

I  Michelangelo's  fourth  manner  might  be  compared 
with  that  of  Milton  in  "Paradise  Kegained '*  and 
*  Samson  Agonistes."  Both  of  these  great  artists 
in  old  age  exaggerate  the  defects  of  their  qualities. 
■Michelangelo's  ideal  of  line  and  proportion  in  the 
human  form  becomes  stereotyped  and  strained,  as 
do  Milton's  rhythms  and  his  Latinisms.  The  gener- 
ous wine  of  the  Bacchus  and  of  **  Comus,"  so  intoxi- 
cating in  its  newness,  the  same  wine  in  the  Sistine 
jand  "  Paradise  Lost,"  so  overwhelming  in  its  mature 
strength,  has  acquired  an  austere  aridity.  Yet, 
strange  to  say,  amid  these  autumn  stubbles  of  de- 
clining genius  we  light  upon  oases  more  sweet, 
more  tenderly  suggestive,  than  aught  the  prime  pro- 
duced. It  is  not  my  business  to  speak  of  Milton 
here.  I  need  not  recall  his  "Knights  of  Logres 
and  of  Lyonesse,"  or  resume  his  Euripidean  gar- 
lands showered  on  Samson's  grave.  But,  for  my 
master  Michelangelo,  it  will  suffice  to  observe  that 
all  the  grace  his  genius  held,  refined,  of  earthly 
grossness  quit,  appeared,  under  the  dominance  of 
this  fourth  manner,  in  the  mythological  subjects  he 
composed  for  Tommaso  Cavalieri,  and,  far  more 
nobly,  in  his  countless  studies  for  the  celebration 
of  Christ's  Passion.  The  designs  bequeathed  to  us 
from  this  period  are  very  numerous.  They  were 
never  employed  in  the  production  of  any  monu- 
mental work  of  sculpture  or  of  painting.  For  this 
very  reason,  because  they  were  occasional  improvisa- 
tions, preludes,  dreams  of  things  to  be,  they  preserve 


284  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

the  finest  bloom,  the  Indian  summer  of  his  fancy.  ^ 
Lovers   of  Michelangelo  must  dedicate   their  latest 
and  most  loving  studies  to  this  phase  of  his  fourth 
manner. 


pn 


I 


X, 


If  we  seek  to  penetrate  the  genius  of  an  artist, 
not  merely  forming  a  correct  estimate  of  his  tech- 
nical ability  and  science,  but  also  probing  his  per- 
sonality to  the  core,  as  near  as  this  is  possible  for  us 
to  do,  we  ought  to  give  our  undivided  study  to  his 
drawings.  It  is  there,  and  there  alone,  that  we  come 
face  to  face  with  the  real  man,  in  his  unguarded 
moments,  in  his  hours  of  inspiration,  in  the  laborious 
effort  to  solve  a  problem  of  composition,  or  in  the 
happy  flow  of  genial  improvisation.  Michelangelo 
was  wont  to  maintain  that  all  the  arts  are  included  in 
the  art  of  design.  Sculpture,  painting,  architecture, 
he  said,  are  but  subordinate  branches  of  draughts- 
manship. And  he  went  so  far  as  to  assert  that  the 
mechanical  arts,  with  engineering  and  fortification, 
nay,  even  the  minor  arts  of  decoration  and  costume, 
owe  their  existence  to  design.  The  more  we  reflect 
upon  this  apparent  paradox,  the  more  shall  we  feel 
it  to  be  true.  At  any  rate,  there  are  no  products 
of  human  thought  and  feeling  capable  of  being 
expressed  by  form  which  do  not  find  their  common 
denominator  in  a  linear  drawing.     The  simplicity  of 


r 


VALUE   OF   ORIGINAL   DRAWINGS.  285 

I  sketch,  the  comparative  rapidity  with  which  it  is 
oroduced,  the  concentration  of  meaning  demanded 
3y  its  rigid  economy  of  means,  render  it  more  sym- 
bolical, more  like  the  hieroglyph  of  its  maker's  mind, 
than  any  finished  work  can  be.  We  may  discover 
|x  greater  mass  of  interesting  objects  in  a  painted 
[picture  or  a  carved  statue ;  but  we  shall  never  find 
bxactly  the  same  thing,  never  the  involuntary  reve- 
ist  ation  of  the  artist's  soul,  the  irrefutable  witness  to 
;li  lis  mental  and  moral  qualities,  to  the  mysteries  of 
er  bis  genius  and  to  its  limitations. 
us  If  this  be  true  of  all  artists,  it  is  in  a  peculiar 
lij  sense  true  of  Michelangelo.  Great  as  he  was  as 
ii(  sculptor,  painter,  architect,  he  was  only  perfect 
ei  and  impeccable  as  draughtsman.  Inadequate  realisa- 
tion, unequal  execution,  fatigue,  satiety,  caprice  of 
mood,  may  sometimes  be  detected  in  his  frescoes 
and  his  statues ;  but  in  design  we  never  find  him 
faulty,  hasty,  less  than  absolute  master  over  the 
selected  realm  of  thought.  His  most  interesting  and 
instructive  work  remains  what  he  performed  with 
pen  and  chalk  in  hand.  Deeply,  therefore,  must 
we  regret  the  false  modesty  which  made  him 
destroy  masses  of  his  drawings,  while  we  have 
reason  to  be  thankful  for  those  marvellous  photo- 
graphic processes  which  nowadays  have  placed  the 
choicest  of  his  masterpieces  within  the  reach  of 
every  one. 

The  following  passages  from  Vasari's  and  Condivi's 
Lives  deserve  attention  by  those  who  approach  the 


286  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

study  of  Buonarroti's  drawings.^  Vasari  says  :  "His 
powers  of  imagination  were  such,  that  he  was  fre- 
quently compelled  to  abandon  his  purpose,  because 

he   could   nof express  "by   the    hand   those   grand 

andr-snblime  ideas  which  he  had  conceived  in  his 
mind ;  nay,  he  has  spoiled  and  destroyed  many  works 
for  this  cause ;  and  I  know,  too,  that  some  short 
time  before  his  death  he  burnt  a  large  number  of  his 
designs,  sketches,  and  cartoons,  that  none  might  see 
the  labours  he  had  endured,  and  the  trials  to  which 
he  had  subjected  his  spirit,  in  his  resolve  not  to  fall 
short  of  perfection.^  I  have  myself  secured  some 
drawings  by  his  hand,  which  were  found  in  Florence, 
and  are  now  in  my  book  of  designs,  and  these, 
although  they  give  evidence  of  his  great  genius,  yet  I 
prove  also  that  the  hammer  of  Vulcan  was  necessary 
to  bring  Minerva  from  the  head  of  Jupiter.  He 
would  construct  an  ideal  shape  out  of  nine,  ten,  and 
even  twelve  different  heads,  for  no  other  purpose 
than  to  obtain  a  certain  grace  of  harmony  and  com- 
position which  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  natural 
form,  and  would  say  that  the  artist  must  have  his 
measuring  tools,  not  in  the  hand,  but  in  the  eye, 
because  the  hands  do  but  operate,  it  is  the  eye  that 
judges  ;  he  pursued  the  same  idea  in  architecture 
also."  Condivi  adds  some  information  regarding  his 
extraordinary   fecundity  and  variety  of  invention  ; 

^  Vasari,  xii.  p.  271  ;  Condivi,  p.  83. 

*  This  is  confirmed  by  the  statement  of  the  ambassador  Averardo 
Serristori,  O'p.  cit.,  p.  415. 


f 


FOUR   GREAT   DRAUGHTSMEN.  287 

**He  was  gifted  with  a  most  tenacious  memory,  the 
power  of  which  was  such  that,  though  he  painted 
so  many  thousands  of  figures,  as  any  one  can  see, 
he  never  made  one  exactly  like  another  or  posed  in 
the  same  attitude.  Indeed,  I  have  heard  him  say 
that  he  never  draws  a  line  without  remembering 
whether  he  has  drawn  it  before ;  erasing  any  repe- 
tition, when  the  design  was  meant  to  be  exposed  to 
public  view.  His  force  of  imagination  is  also  most 
extraordinary.  This  has  been  the  chief  reason  why 
he  was  never  quite  satisfied  with  his  own  work,  and 
always  depreciated  its  quality,  esteeming  that  his 
hand  failed  to  attain  the  idea  which  he  had  formed 
within  his  brain/* 


XI. 

The  four  greatest  draughtsmen  of  this  epoch  were 
Lionardo  da  Vinci,  Michelangelo,  Raffaello,  and  An- 
drea del  Sarto.  They  are  not  to  be  reckoned  as  equals ; 
for  Lionardo  and  Michelangelo  outstrip  the  other 
two  almost  as  much  as  these  surpass  all  lesser  crafts- 
men. Each  of  the  four  men  expressed  his  own 
peculiar  vision  of  the  world  with  pen,  or  chalk,  or 
metal  point,  finding  the  unique  inevitable  line,  the 
exact  touch  and  quality  of  stroke,  which  should  pre- 
sent at  once  a  lively  transcript  from  real  Nature, 
and  a  revelation  of  the  artist's  particular  way  of  feel- 


288  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

ing  Nature.  In  Lionardo  it  is  a  line  of  subtlety  an 
infinite  suggestiveness ;  in  Michelangelo  it  compels 
attention,  and  forcibly  defines  the  essence  of  the 
object ;  in  Rafiaello  it  carries  melody,  the  charm  of 
an  unerring  rhythm  ;  in  Andrea  it  seems  to  call  for 
tone,  colour,  atmosphere,  and  makes  their  presence 
felt.  Eaflfaello  was  often  faulty  :  even  in  the  wonder- 
ful pen-drawing  of  two  nudes  he  sent  to  Albrecht 
Dlirer  as  a  sample  of  his  skill,  we  blame  the  knees 
and  ankles  of  his  models.  Lionardo  was  sometimes 
wilful,  whimsical,  seduced  by  dreamland,  like  a  god- 
born  amateur.  Andrea  allowed  his  facility  to  lead 
him  into  languor,  and  lacked  passion.  Michel- 
angelo's work  shows  none  of  these  shortcomings  ;  it 
is  always  technically  faultless,  instinct  with  passion, 
supereminent  in  force.  But  we  crave  more  of  grace, 
of  sensuous  delight,  of  sweetness,  than  he  chose, 
or  perhaps  was  able,  to  communicate.  We  should 
welcome  a  little  more  of  human  weakness  if  he 
gave  a  little  more  of  divine  suavity. 

Michelangelo's  style  of  design  is  that  of  a  sculptor, 
Andrea's  of  a  colourist,  Lionardo's  of  a  curious 
student,  Rafi'aello's  of  a  musician  and  improvisatore. 
These  distinctions  are  not  merely  fanciful,  nor  based 
on  what  we  know  about  the  men  in  their  careers. 
We  feel  similar  distinctions  in  the  case  of  all  great 
draughtsmen.  Titian's  chalk-studies,  Fra  Bartolom- 
meo's,  so  singularly  akin  to  Andrea  del  Sarto's, 
Giorgione's  pen-and-ink  sketch  for  a  Lucretia,  are 
seen  at  once  by  their  richness  and  blurred  outlines 


THE   ARTIST   IN   HIS   DRAWINGS.  289 

o  be  the  work  of  colourists.^  Signorelli's  transcripts 
rom  the  nude,  remarkably  similar  to  those  of 
Vlichelangelo,  reveal  a  sculptor  rather  than  a  painter.^ 
Botticelli,  with  all  his  Florentine  precision,  shows 
that,  like  Lionardo,  he  was  a  seeker  and  a  visionary 
n  his  anxious  feeling  after  curve  and  attitude, 
antegna  seems  to  be  graving  steel  or  cutting  into 
arble.  It  is  easy  to  apply  this  analysis  in  succes- 
ion  to  any  draughtsman  who  has  style.  To  do  so 
ould,  however,  be  superfluous  :  we  should  only  be 
enforcing  what  is  a  truism  to  all  intelligent  students 
of  art — namely,  that  each  individual  stamps  his  own 
specific  quality  upon  his  handiwork  ;  reveals  even  in 
the  neutral  region  of  design  his  innate  preference 
for  colour  or  pure  form  as  a  channel  of  expression ; 
)etrays  the  predominance  of  mental  energy  or  sensu- 
ous charm,  of  scientific  curiosity  or  plastic  force,  of 
passion  or  of  tenderness,  which  controls  his  nature. 
This  inevitable  and  unconscious  revelation  of  the 
man  in  art-work  strikes  us  as  being  singularly  modern. 
We  do  not  apprehend  it  to  at  all  the  same  extent 
in  the  sculpture  of  the  ancients,  whether  it  be  that 
our  sympathies  are  too  remote  from  Greek  and 
Eoman  ways  of  feeling,  or  whether  the  ancients 
really  conceived  art  more  collectively  in  masses,  less 
individually  as  persons. 

1  Two  heads  of  old  men  by  Titian  in  the  Louvre ;  Fra  Bartolommeo's 
cartoons  in  the  Accademia,  and  his  red-chalk  drawings  in  the  UflSlzi  at 
Florence  ;  Giorgione's  Lucretia  in  the  Uffizi. 

2  Two  studies  of  men  in  black  chalk  in  the  Louvre. 

VOL.  I.  T 


290  LIFE  OF  MICHELANGELO. 

No  master  exhibits  this  peculiarly  modern  quality 
more  decisively  than  Michelangelo,  and  nowhere  is 
the  personality  of  his  genius,  what  marks  him  off  and 
separates  him  from  all  fellow-men,  displayed  with 
fuller  emphasis  than  in  his  drawings.  To  use  the 
words  of  a  penetrative  critic,^  from  whom  it  is  a 
pleasure  to  quote  :  "  The  thing  about  Michelangelo  is 
this  ;  he  is  not,  so  to  say,  at  the  head  of  a  class,  but 
he  stands  apart  by  himself :  he  is  not  possessed  of 
a  skill  which  renders  him  unapproached  or  unap- 
proachable ;  but  rather,  he  is  of  so  unique  an  order, 
that  no  other  artist  whatever  seems  to  suggest  com- 
parison with  him."  Mr.  Selwyn  Image  goes  on  to 
define  in  what  a  true  sense  the  words  "  creator " 
and  "  creative "  may  be  applied  to  him  :  how  the 
shows  and  appearances  of  the  world  were  for  him 
but  hieroglyphs  of  underlying  ideas,  with  which  his 
soul  was  familiar,  and  from  which  he  worked  again 
outward ;  **  his  learning  and  skill  in  the  arts  sup- 
plying to  his  hand  such  large  and  adequate  symbols 
of  them  as  are  otherwise  beyond  attainment."  This, 
in  a  very  difficult  and  impalpable  region  of  aesthetic 
criticism,  is  finely  said,  and  accords  with  Michel- 
angelo's own  utterances  upon  art  and  beauty  in  his 
poems.  Dwelling  like  a  star  apart,  communing 
with  the  eternal  ideas,  the  permanent  relations  of 
the  universe,  uttering  his  inmost  thoughts  about 
these  mysteries  through  the  vehicles  of  science  and 

1  Mr.  Selwyn  Image,  "  On  the  Distinctive  Genius  of  J.  F.  Millet," 
Century  Guild  Hohhy  Horse^  October  1891. 


VEHICLES   EMPLOYED   BY   DRAUGHTSMEN.   291 


of  art,  for  which  he  was  so  singularly  gifted,  Michel- 
angelo, in  no  loose  or  trivial  sense  of  that  phrase, 
proved  himself  to  be  a  creator.  He  introduces  us  to 
a  world  seen  by  no  eyes  except  his  own,  compels 
us  to  become  familiar  with  forms  unapprehended  by 
our  senses,  accustoms  us  to  breathe  a  rarer  and  more 
fiery  atmosphere  than  we  were  born  into. 

The  vehicles  used  by  Michelangelo  in  his  designs 
were  mostly  pen  and  chalk.  He  employed  both  a 
sharp-nibbed  pen  of  some  kind,  and  a  broad  flexible 
reed,  according  to  the  exigencies  of  his  subject  or 
the  temper  of  his  mood.  The  chalk  was  either  red 
or  black,  the  former  being  softer  than  the  latter.  I 
cannot  remember  any  instances  of  those  chiaroscuro 
washes  which  Raffaello  handled  in  so  masterly  a 
manner,  although  Michelangelo  frequently  combined 

lii|bistre  shading  with  pen  outlines.  In  like  manner  he 
does  not  seem  to  have  favoured  the  metal  point  upon 
prepared  paper,  with  which  Lionardo  produced  un- 
rivalled masterpieces.  Some  drawings,  where  the 
yellow  outline  bites  into  a  parchment  paper,  blistering 
at  the  edges,  suggest  a  rusty  metal  in  the  instrument. 
We  must  remember,  however,  that  the  inks  of  that 
period  were  frequently  corrosive,  as  is  proved  by  the 
state  of  many  documents  now  made  illegible  through 
the  gradual  attrition  of  the  paper  by  mineral  acids. 
It  is  also  not  impossible  that  artists  may  have  already 

aDiinvented  what  we  call  steel  pens.  Sarpi,  in  the  seven- 
teenth century,  thanks  a  correspondent  for  the  gift  of 


292  LIFE  OF   MICHELANGELO. 

the  reed  and  the  quill,  red  and  black  chalk,  or  matita, 
were  the  vehicles  of  Michelangelo's  expression  as 
a  draughtsman.  I  have  seen  very  few  examples  of 
studies  heightened  with  white  chalk,  and  none  pro- 
duced in  the  fine  Florentine  style  of  Ghirlandajo 
by  white  chalk  alone  upon  a  dead-brown  surface. 
In  this  matter  it  is  needful  to  speak  with  diffidence ; 
for  the  sketches  •  of  our  master  are  so  widely  scat- 
tered that  few  students  can  have  examined  the  whole 
of  them  ;  and  photographic  reproductions,  however 
admirable  in  their  fidelity  to  outline,  do  not  always 
give  decisive  evidence  regarding  the  materials  em- 
ployed.^ 

One  thing  seems  manifest.    Michelangelo  avoided 
those    mixed    methods   with    which   Lionardo,    the 

^  It  is  interesting  to  relate  here  what  Vasari,  in  his  introduction 
(vol.  i.  p.  154),  says  about  the  materials  used  by  draughtsmen  in  his 
lifetime.  They  are  as  follows :  i,  charcoal ;  2,  a  red  stone,  brought 
from  German  quarries ;  3,  a  black  stone,  of  the  same  description, 
brought  from  France  ;  4,  a  pen  or  metal  point  upon  prepared  ground 
of  different  colours ;  5,  washes  of  white  lead,  with  a  gummy  medium 
applied  to  dark  paper,  the  modelling  being  produced  by  simple  high 
lights  ;  6,  pen  and  ink.  He  does  not  mention  matita  in  this  place  by 
name — that  is  an  iron  ore  of  red  or  brown  hue,  and  is  probably  the 
stone  alluded  to  above  under  numbers  2  and  3.  Our  prepared  chalks 
do  not  appear  to  have  been  invented,  and  only  faint  approaches  toward 
the  pcLstiUe  polychrome  of  modem  art  can  be  found  in  some  of  Lionardo's 
experiments.  We  cannot  afl&rm  that  black-lead  was  a  vehicle  in  use 
under  its  present  form  of  penciL  Yet,  if  we  may  include  it  in  the 
general  description  of  matita,  this  was  perhaps  known  to  draughtsmen 
of  the  sixteenth  century.  Some  written  memoranda  and  rough  jottings 
of  design  by  Michelangelo  indicate  it  to  the  eye.  In  order  to  be  fully 
informed  upon  the  subject,  it  would  be  necessary  to  submit  portions 
of  original  drawings  to  chemical  analysis.  So  far  as  I  know,  this  has 
not  yet  been  attempted. 


PEN  AND   INK.  293 

magician,  wrought  wonders.  He  preferred  an  in- 
strument which  could  be  freely,  broadly  handled, 
inscribing  form  in  strong  plain  strokes  upon  the 
candid  paper.  The  result  attained,  whether  wrought 
by  bold  lines,  or  subtly  hatched,  or  finished  with  the 
utmost  delicacy  of  modulated  shading,  has  always 
been  traced  out  conscientiously  and  firmly,  with  one 
pointed  stylus  (pen,  chalk,  or  matita),  chosen  for  the 
purpose.  As  I  have  said,  it  is  the  work  of  a  sculptor, 
accustomed  to  wield  chisel  and  mallet  upon  marble, 
rather  than  that  of  a  painter,  trained  to  secure  effects 
by  shadowings  and  glazings. 

It  is  possible,  I  think,  to  define,  at  least  with  some 
approximation  to  precision,  Michelangelo's  employ- 
ment of  his  favourite  vehicles  for  several  purposes  and 
at  different  periods  of  his  life.  A  broad-nibbed  pen 
was  used  almost  invariably  in  making  architectural 
designs  of  cornices,  pilasters,  windows,  also  in  plans 
for  military  engineering.  Sketches  of  tombs  and  edi- 
fices, intended  to  be  shown  to  patrons,  were  partly 
finished  with  the  pen ;  and  here  we  find  a  subor- 
dinate and  very  limited  use  of  the  brush  in  shading. 
Such  performances  may  be  regarded  as  products 
of  the  workshop  rather  than  as  examples  of  the 
artisf  s  mastery.  The  style  of  them  is  often  conven- 
tional, suggesting  the  intrusion  of  a  pupil  or  the 
deliberate  adoption  of  an  office  mannerism.  The 
pen  plays  a  foremost  part  in  all  the  greatest  and 
most  genial  creations  of  his  fancy  when  it  worked 
energetically   in    preparation    for   sculpture    or  for 


294  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 


fresco.  The  Louvre  is  rich  in  masterpieces  of  this 
kind — the  fiery  study  of  a  David ;  the  heroic  figures 
of  two  male  nudes,  hatched  into  stubborn  salience 
like  pieces  of  carved  wood ;  the  broad  conception  of 
the  Madonna  at  S.  Lorenzo  in  her  magnificent  repose 
and  passionate  cascade  of  fallen  draperies ;  the  re- 
pulsive but  superabundantly  powerful  profile  of  a 
goat-like  faun.  These,  and  the  stupendous  studies 
of  the  Albertina  Collection  at  Vienna,  including 
the  supine  man  with  thorax  violently  raised,  are 
worked  with  careful  hatchings,  stroke  upon  stroke, 
effecting  a  suggestion  of  plastic  roundness.  But 
we  discover  quite  a  different  use  of  the  pen  in 
some  large  simple  outlines  of  seated  female  figures 
at  the  Louvre  ;  in  thick,  almost  muddy,  studies  at 
Vienna,  where  the  form  emerges  out  of  oft-repeated 
sodden  blotches ;  in  the  grim  light  and  shade,  the 
rapid  suggestiveness  of  the  dissection  scene  at 
Oxford.  The  pen  in  the  hand  of  Michelangelo  was  j 
the  tool  by  means  of  which  he  realised  his  most 
trenchant  conceptions  and  his  most  picturesque  im- 
pressions. In  youth  and  early  manhood,  when  his 
genius  was  still  vehement,  it  seems  to  have  been  his 
favourite  vehicle. 

The  use  of  chalk  grew  upon  him  in  later  life,  | 
possibly  because   he  trusted   more   to  his   memory 
now,  and  loved  the  dreamier  softer  medium  for  utter- 
ing his  fancies.    Black  chalk  was  employed  for  rapid  | 
notes  of  composition,  and  also  for  the  more  elaborate 
productions  of  his  pencil.     To  this  material  we  owe 


Study  for  Madonna — Louvre 


BLACK  AND   RED   CHALK.  295 

the  head  of  Horror  which  he  gave  to  Gherardo  Perini 
(in  the  Uffizi),  the  Phaethon,  the  Tityos,  the  Gany- 
mede he  gave  to  Tommaso  Cavalieri  (at  Windsor).  It 
is  impossible  to  describe  the  refinements  of  modu- 
lated shading  and  the  precision  of  predetermined 
outlines  by  means  of  which  these  incomparable  draw- 
ings have  been  produced.  They  seem  to  melt  and 
to  escape  inspection,  yet  they  remain  fixed  on  the 
memory  as  firmly  as  forms  in  carven  basalt. 

The  whole  series  of  designs  for  Christ's  Crucifixion 
and  Deposition  from  the  Cross  are  executed  in  chalk, 
sometimes  black,  but  mostly  red.  It  is  manifest, 
upon  examination,  that  they  are  not  studies  from 
the  model,  but  thoughts  evoked  and  shadowed  forth 
on  paper.  Their  perplexing  multiplicity  and  subtle 
variety — as  though  a  mighty  improvisatore  were  pre- 
luding again  and  yet  again  upon  the  clavichord  to 
find  his  theme,  abandoning  the  search,  renewing  it, 
altering  the  key,  changing  the  accent — prove  that 
this  continued  seeking  with  the  crayon  after  form 
and  composition  was  carried  on  in  solitude  and  ab- 
stract moments.  Incomplete  as  the  designs  may  be, 
they  reveal  Michelangelo's  loftiest  dreams  and  purest 
visions.  The  nervous  energy,  the  passionate  grip 
upon  the  subject,  shown  in  the  pen-drawings,  are 
absent  here.  These  qualities  are  replaced  by  medi- 
tation and  an  air  of  rapt  devotion.  The  drawings 
for  the  Passion  might  be  called  the  prayers  and  pious 
thoughts  of  the  stern  master. 

Eed  chalk  he  used  for  some  of  his  most  brilliant 


296  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO.  | 

conceptions.  It  is  not  necessary  to  dwell  upon  the 
bending  woman's  head  at  Oxford,  or  the  torso  of  the 
lance-bearer  at  Vienna.  Let  us  confine  our  atten- 
tion to  what  is  perhaps  the  most  pleasing  and  most 
perfect  of  all  Michelangelo's  designs — the  *'Bersa- 
glio,"  or  the  "Arcieri,"  in  the  Queen's  collection  at 
Windsor. 

It  is  a  group  of  eleven  naked  men  and  one  woman, 
fiercely  footing  the  air,  and  driving  shafts  with  all 
their  might  to  pierce  a  classical  terminal  figure, 
whose  face,  like  that  of  Pallas,  and  broad  breast  are 
guarded  by  a  spreading  shield  The  draughtsman 
has  indicated  only  one  bow,  bent  with  fury  by  an 
old  man  in  the  background.  Yet  all  the  actions 
proper  to  archery  are  suggested  by  the  violent  ges- 
tures and  strained  sinews  of  the  crowd.  At  the  foot 
of  the  terminal  statue,  Cupid  lies  asleep  upon  his 
wings,  with  idle  bow  and  quiver.  Two  little  genii 
of  love,  in  the  background,  are  lighting  up  a  fire, 
puffing  its  flames,  as  though  to  drive  the  archers 
onward.  Energy  and  ardour,  impetuous  movement 
and  passionate  desire,  could  not  be  expressed  with 
greater  force,  nor  the  tyranny  of  some  blind  impulse 
be  more  imaginatively  felt.  The  allegory  seems  to 
imply  that  happiness  is  not  to  be  attained,  as  human 
beings  mostly  strive  to  seize  it,  by  the  fierce  force  of 
the  carnal  passions.  It  is  the  contrast  between  celes- 
tial love  asleep  in  lustful  souls,  and  vulgar  love  in- 
flaming tyrannous  appetites  :^ — 

^  Eime^  Sonnet  No.  liii 


THE   BERSAGLIO  AT   WINDSOR.  297 

The  one  love  soars,  the  other  downward  tends ; 
The  soul  lights  this,  while  that  the  senses  stir, 
And  still  lust's  arrow  at  base  quarry  flies. 

This  magnificent  design  was  engraved  during 
Buonarroti's  lifetime,  or  shortly  afterwards,  by  Nic- 
C0I6  Beatrizet.  Some  follower  of  Raffaello  used  the 
print  for  a  fresco  in  the  Palazzo  Borghese  at  Rome. 
It  forms  one  of  the  series  in  which  Raffaello's  mar- 
riage of  Alexander  and  Roxana  is  painted.  This 
has  led  some  critics  to  ascribe  the  drawing  itself 
to  the  Urbinate.  Indeed,  at  first  sight,  one  might 
almost  conjecture  that  the  original  chalk  study  was 
a  genuine  work  of  Raffaello,  aiming  at  rivalry  with 
Michelangelo's  manner.  The  calm  beauty  of  the 
statue's  classic  profile,  the  refinement  of  all  the  faces, 
the  exquisite  delicacy  of  the  adolescent  forms,  and 
the  dominant  veiling  of  strength  with  grace,  are  not 
precisely  Michelangelesque.  The  technical  execu- 
tion of  the  design,  however,  makes  its  attribution 
certain.  Well  as  Raffaello  could  draw,  he  could  not 
draw  like  this.  He  was  incapable  of  rounding  and 
modelling  the  nude  with  those  soft  stipplings  and 
granulated  shadings  which  bring  the  whole  sur- 
face out  like  that  of  a  bas-relief  in  polished  marble. 
His  own  drawing  for  Alexander  and  Roxana,  in  red 
chalk,  and  therefore  an  excellent  subject  for  com- 
parison with  the  Arcieri,  is  hatched  all  over  in 
straight  lines ;  a  method  adopted  by  Michelangelo 
when  working  with  the  pen,  but,  so  far  as  I  am 
aware,  never,  or  very  rarely,  used  when  he  was  hand- 


298  LIFE   OF  MICHELANGELO. 

ling  chalk.  The  style  of  this  design  and  its  exquisite 
workmanship  correspond  exactly  with  the  finish  of 
the  Cavalieri  series  at  Windsor.  The  paper,  more- 
over, is  indorsed  in  Michelangelo's  handwriting  with 
a  memorandum  bearing  the  date  April  12,  1530.  We 
have  then  in  this  masterpiece  of  draughtsmanship  an 
example,  not  of  Rafiaello  in  a  Michelangelising  mood, 
but  of  Michelangelo  for  once  condescending  to  sur- 
pass Raffaello  on  his  own  ground  of  loveliness  and 
rhythmic  grace. ^ 

1  Morelli,  in  his  book  upon  the  Borghese  and  Doria  Galleries,  suggests 
that  the  drawing  of  Alexander  and  Koxana  in  question  above  was 
really  a  work  of  Sodoma's.  If  that  be  so,  it  does  not  invalidate  the 
argument. 


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CHAPTER  VII. 

.  Death  of  Julius,  February  21,  15 13. — Election  of  Leo  X. — 2.  Michel- 
angelo works  at  the  tomb. — His  house  at  the  Macello  de'  Corvi. — 
Visit  of  Signorelli  to  his  workshop. — The  Risen  Christ  of  S.  Maria 
sopra  Minerva  ordered. — Michelangelo's  dislike  in  later  life  to  be 

^^  addressed  as  sculptor. — His  sense  of  pedigree  and  family  dignity. — 
3.  Leo  begins  to  employ  him  in  151 5. — The  Pope's  visit  to  Florence 
in  November,  and  again  at  Christmas. — He  conceives  the  idea  of 
finishing  the  Church  of  S.  Lorenzo. — Plans  for  the  fa9ade  are  pre- 
pared.— 4.  The  work  was  to  be  carried  out  by  several  artists  under 
Michelangelo's  direction. — This  scheme  falls  through. — Angry  letter 
of  Jacopo  Sansovino. — Uncertainty  about  Michelangelo's  design  for 
the  fa9ade. — It  would  certainly  have  combined  vast  masses  of  sculp- 
ture with  the  architecture. — ^  Michelangelo  at  Carrara  quarrying 
marble  during  15 16. — Illness  of  Lodovico. — Makes  a  model  for  the 
fa9ade. — Enthusiasm  for  his  work. — At  Carrara  during  15 17. — Goes 
to  Rome  at  the  beginning  of  15 18. — The  Medici  determine  to  work 
the  quarries  of  Pietra  Santa. — Michelangelo  is  set  to  making  roads/ 
there. — Quarrel  with  the  Marquis  of  Massa  Carrara. — 6.  Project  for 
bringing  Dante's  bones  to  Florence  and  erecting  him  a  monument. 
— Michelangelo's  profound  study  of  Dante. — Two  sonnets. — His  ^ 
designs  for  the  "  Divine  Comedy." — Donato  Giannotti's  Dialogue. — 
7.  Michelangelo's  wasted  time  and  energy  in  the  marble  quarries. — 
Purchase  of  a  house  at  Florence  in  the  Via  Mozza. — Moves  between 
Florence  and  Pietra  Santa. — His  workman  Pietro  Urbano. — The 
correspondence  with  Sebastiano  del  Piombo  begins. — Contemporary 
opinion  regarding  Michelangelo's  violence  of  temper  and  savage 
manners.  —  8.  A  record  of  March  10,  1520,  shows  that  Michel- 
angelo's contracts  for  the  facade  of  S.  Lorenzo  were  cancelled. — 
He  complained  of  having  wasted  three  years,  beside  suffering  con- 
siderable money  losses. — Death  of  Raffaello. — The  Hall  of  Constan- 
tine. — Michelangelo  writes  to  Rome  in  favour  of  Sebastiano. — 
Intrigues  among  the  painters  at  the  Vatican. — 9.  Weakness  and 
dejection  of  Michelangelo. — Project  for  the  new  sacristy,  March 

1 521. — Cardinal   Giulio  de'  Medici. — The  Risen  Christ  sent  to 

399 


300  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

Rome  under  Pietro  Urbano's  care  in  the  autumn  of  1521. — Urbane 
mishandles  it. — History  of  the  statue. — The  generosity  of  Metello 
Varj. — Criticism  of  the  work. 


mi 
pa 
f 
of 


by 


Julius  died  upon  the  2 1 st  of  February  1 5 1 3.     "A 
prince,"  says  Guicciardini,  "of  inestimable  courage 
and  tenacity,  but  headlong,  and   so  extravagant  in 
the  schemes  he  formed,  that  his  own  prudence  andfia 
moderation  had  less  to  do  with  shielding  him  from 
ruin  than  the  discord  of  sovereigns  and  the  circum- 
stances of  the  times  in  Europe  :  worthy,  in  all  truth, 
of  the  highest  glory  had  he  been  a  secular  poten- 
tate,  or  if  the  pains  and  anxious  thought  he  em 
ployed  in  augmenting  the  temporal  greatness  of  thai 
Church  by  war  had  been  devoted  to  her  spiritual  p 
welfare  in  the  arts  of  peace." 

Italy  rejoiced  when  Giovanni  de'  Medici  was 
selected  to  succeed  him,  with  the  title  of  Leo  X 
**  Venus  ruled  in  Rome  with  Alexander,  Mars  with 
Julius,  now  Pallas  enters  on  her  reign  with  Leo." 
Such  was  the  tenor  of  the  epigrams  which  greetedJI 
Leo  upon  his  triumphal  progress  to  the  Lateran.  It 
was  felt  that  a  Pope  of  the  house  of  Medici  would  be  sal 
a  patron  of  arts  and  letters,  and  it  was  hoped  that  fc 
the  son  of  Lorenzo  the  Magnificent  might  restore  an 
the  equilibrium  of  power  in  Italy.  Leo  X.  has  enn 
joyed  a  greater  fame  than  he  deserved.  Extolled 
as  an  Augustus  in  his  lifetime,  he  left  his  name  to  to 
what  is  called  the  golden  age  of  Italian  cultures  kis 


E( 

bri 
imi 
I 
ft 
k 
do 


LEO  X.  301 

^et  he  cannot  be  said  to  have  raised  any  first-rate 
nen  of  genius,  or  to  have  exercised  a  very  wise 
)atronage  over  those  whom  Julius  brought  forward, 
yiichelangelo  and  Eaffaello  were  in  the  full  swing 
)f  work  when  Leo  claimed  their  services.  We  shall 
jee  how  he  hampered  the  rare  gifts  of  the  former 
jy  employing  him  on  uncongenial  labours ;  and  it 

iijfvas  no  great  merit  to  give  a  free  rein  to  the  inex- 
laustible  energy  of  Raffaello.  The  project  of  a  new 
S.  Peter's  belonged  to  Julius.  Leo  only  continued 
:he  scheme,  using  such  assistants  as  the  times 
Drovided  after  Bramante's  death  in  15 14.  Julius 
nstinctively  selected  men  of  soaring  and  audacious 
^enius,  who  were  capable  of  planning  on  a  colossal 
jcale.  Leo  delighted  in  the  society  of  clever  people, 
Doetasters,  petty  scholars,  lutists,  and  buffoons. 
Rome  owes  no  monumental  work  to  his  inventive 
Drain,  and  literature  no  masterpiece  to  his  discri- 
nination.  Ariosto,  the  most  brilliant  poet  of  the 
Renaissance,  returned  in  disappointment  from  the 
Vatican.  "When  I  went  to  Rome  and  kissed  the 
foot  of  Leo,"  writes  the  ironical  satirist,  "he  bent 
iown  from  the  holy  chair,  and  took  my  hand  and 
saluted  me  on  both  cheeks.     Besides,  he  made  me 

iJBree  of  half  the  stamp-dues  I  was  bound  to  pay  ; 
md  then,   breast  full  of  hope,   but  smirched   with 
Qiud,  I  retired  and  took  my  supper  at  the  Ram." 
The  words  which  Leo  is  reported  to  have  spoken 
o  his  brother  Giuliano  when  he  heard  the  news  of 

jpiis  election,  express  the  character  of  the  man  and 


302  LIFE   OF  MICHELANGELO. 

mark  the  diflference  between  his  ambition  and  that 
of  Julius.  "  Let  us  enjoy  the  Papacy,  since  God  has 
given  it  us."  To  enjoy  life,  to  squander  the  treasures 
of  the  Church  on  amusements,  to  feed  a  rabble  of 
flatterers,  to  contract  enormous  debts,  and  to  disturb 
the  peace  of  Italy,  not  for  some  vast  scheme  of  eccle- 
siastical aggrandisement,  but  in  order  to  place  the  pii 
princes  of  his  family  on  thrones,  that  was  Leo's 
conception  of  the  Papal  privileges  and  duties.  The 
portraits  of  the  two  Popes,  both  from  the  hand 
of  Raffaello,  are  eminently  characteristic.  Julius, 
bent,  white-haired,  and  emaciated,  has  the  nervous 
glance  of  a  passionate  and  energetic  temperament. 
Leo,  heavy- jawed,  dull-eyed,  with  thick  lips  and  a 
brawny  jowl,  betrays  the  coarser  fibre  of  a  sensualist.  ^^ 


Hi 


11. 


We  have  seen  already  that  Julius,  before  his  death, 
provided  for  his  monument  being  carried  out  upon 
a  reduced  scale.  Michelangelo  entered  into  a  new 
contract  with  the  executors,  undertaking  to  finish 
the  work  within  the  space  of  seven  years  from  the 
date  of  the  deed,  May  6,  1513.^  He  received  in 
several  payments,  during  that  year  and  the  years 
1 5 14,  15 1 5,  15 16,  the  total  sum  of  6100  golden 
ducats.^     This  proves  that  he  must  have  pushed  the 

1  Lettere,  Contratti,  No.  xi.  p.  635.  *''  Lettere,  Ricordi,  p.  564. 


irl 


LETTER  ABOUT  SIGNORELLI.       303 

various  operations  connected  with  the  tomb  vigor- 
ously forward,  employing  numerous  workpeople, 
and  ordering  supplies  of  marble.^  In  fact,  the 
greater  part  of  what  remains  to  us  of  the  unfinished 
monument  may  be  ascribed  to  this  period  of  com- 
paratively uninterrupted  labour.  Michelangelo  had 
his  workshop  in  the  Macello  de'  Corvi,  but  we 
know  very  little  about  the  details  of  his  life  there. 
His  correspondence  happens  to  be  singularly  scanty 
between  the  years  1513  and  15 16.  One  letter, 
however,  written  in  May  15 18,  to  the  Capitano  of 
Cortona  throws  a  ray  of  light  upon  this  barren  tract 
of  time,  and  introduces  an  artist  of  eminence,  whose 
intellectual  affinity  to  Michelangelo  will  always  re- 
main a  matter  of  interest.^  '*  While  I  was  at  Rome, 
in  the  first  year  of  Pope  Leo,  there  came  the  Master 
Luca  Signorelli  of  Cortona,  painter.  I  met  him  one 
day  near  Monte  Giordano,  and  he  told  me  that  he 
was  come  to  beg  something  from  the  Pope,  I  forget 
what :  he  had  run  the  risk  of  losing  life  and  limb 
for  his  devotion  to  the  house  of  Medici,  and  now  it 
seemed  they  did  not  recognise  him  :  and  so  forth, 
saying  many  things  I  have  forgotten.^  After  these 
discourses,  he  asked   me   for  forty  giulios  [a  coin 


1  Condivi  (p.  43)  expressly  states  that  he  "  engaged  many  masters 
from  Florence." 

2  Lettere,  No.  cccliv. 

3  This  incident  illustrates  what  Ariosto  writes  in  the  4th  Satire  about 
:he  people  who  persecuted  Leo,  when  he  was  made  Pope,  with  claims 
OT  service  rendered  and  devotion  shown  during  the  exile  of  the  Medici^ 
Lines  154-168. 


air 


304  LIFE  OF   MICHELANGELO. 

equal  in  value  to  the  more  modern  paolo,  and  worth 
perhaps  eight  shillings  of  present  money],  and 
told  me  where  to  send  them  to,  at  the  house  of  a 
shoemaker,  his  lodgings.  I  not  having  the  money 
about  me,  promised  to  send  it,  and  did  so  by  the 
hand  of  a  young  man  in  my  service,  called  Silvio, 
who  is  still  alive  and  in  Eome,  I  believe.  After  the 
lapse  of  some  days,  perhaps  because  his  business 
with  the  Pope  had  failed,  Messer  Luca  came  to  my 
house  in  the  Macello  de'  Corvi,  the  same  where  I 
live  now,  and  found  me  working  on  a  marble  statue, 
four  cubits  in  height,  which  has  the  hands  bound 
behind  the  back,  and  bewailed  himself  with  me, 
and  begged  another  forty,  saying  that  he  wanted 
to  leave  Eome.  I  went  up  to  my  bedroom,  and 
brought  the  money  down  in  the  presence  of  a 
Bolognese  maid  I  kept,  and  I  think  the  Silvio 
above  mentioned  was  also  there.  When  Luca  got 
the  cash,  he  went  away,  and  1  have  never  seen 
him  since ;  but  I  remember  complaining  to  him, 
because  I  was  out  of  health  and  could  not  work, 
and  he  said :  *  Have  no  fear,  for  the  angels  from 
heaven  will  come  to  take  you  in  their  arms  and  aid  ^^ 
you.'  "  This  is  in  several  ways  an  interesting  docu- 
ment. It  brings  vividly  before  our  eyes  magnificent 
expensive  Signorelli  and  his  meanly  living  com 
rade,  each  of  them  mighty  masters  of  a  terrible 
and  noble  style,  passionate  lovers  of  the  nude,  de- 
voted to  masculine  types  of  beauty,  but  widely  and 
profoundly  severed  by  differences  in  their  personal 


iji 


COMMISSION   FOR  A   MARBLE   CHRIST.       305 

tastes  and  habits.^  It  also  gives  us  a  glimpse  into 
Michelangelo's  workshop  at  the  moment  when  he 
was  blocking  out  one  of  the  bound  Captives  at  the 
Louvre.  It  seems  from  what  follows  in  the  letter 
that  Michelangelo  had  attempted  to  recover  the 
money  through  his  brother  Buonarroto,  but  that 
Signorelli  refused  to  acknowledge  his  debt.  The 
Capitano  wrote  that  he  was  sure  it  had  been  dis- 
charged. "That,"  adds  Michelangelo,  "is  the  same 
as  calling  me  the  biggest  blackguard  ;  and  so  I 
should  be,  if  I  wanted  to  get  back  what  had  been 
already  paid.  But  let  your  Lordship  think  what 
you  like  about  it,  I  am  bound  to  get  the  money,  and 
so  I  swear."  The  remainder  of  the  autograph  is  torn 
and  illegible ;  it  seems  to  wind  up  with  a  threat. 

The  records  of  this  period  are  so  scanty  that  every 
detail  acquires  a  certain  importance  for  Michelangelo's 
biographer.  By  a  deed  executed  on  the  1 4th  of  June 
1 5 14,  we  find  that  he  contracted  to  make  a  figure  of 
Christ  in  marble,  "life-sized,  naked,  erect,  with  a 
cross  in  his  arms,  and  in  such  attitude  as  shall  seem 
best  to  Michelangelo."^  The  persons  who  ordered 
the  statue  were  Bernardo  Cencio  (a  Canon  of  S. 
Peter's),  Mario  Scappucci,  and  Metello  Varj  dei 
Porcari,  a  Roman  of  ancient  blood.  They  under- 
took to  pay  200  golden  ducats  for  the  work ;  and 

^  See  Vasari's  Life  of  Signorelli,  who  was  a  relative  of  his,  for  the 
grand  train  of  life  he  led,  and  also  for  Michelangelo's  addiction  to  hif? 
manner.     Vol.  vL  pp.  147,  142. 

2  Lettere,  Contratti,  No.  xiv. 

VOL.  I.  U 


3o6  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO.  } 

Michelangelo  promised  to  finish  it  within  the  space 
of  four  years,  when  it  was  to  be  placed  in  the  Church 
of  S.  Maria  sopra  Minerva.  Metello  Varj,  though 
mentioned  last  in  the  contract,  seems  to  have  been 
the  man  who  practically  gave  the  commission,  and! 


k 


of 


to  whom  Michelangelo  was  finally  responsible  for  its 
performance.  He  began  to  hew  it  from  a  block,  and 
discovered  black  veins  in  the  working.  This,  then, 
was  thrown  aside,  and  a  new  marble  had  to  be 
attacked.  The  statue,  now  visible  at  the  Minerva, 
was  not  finished  until  the  year  1521,  when  we  shalljEi 
have  to  return  to  it  again. 

There  is  a  point  of  some  interest  in  the  wording  m 
of  this  contract,  on  which,  as  facts  to  dwell  upon  are  jj 
few  and  far  between  at  present,  I  may  perhaps  allow 
myself  to  digress.     The  master  is  here  described  as  i] 
Michelangelo  (di  Lodovico)  Simoni,  Scultore,     No\^  to 
Michelangelo  always  signed  his  own  letters  Michel- 
angelo Buonarroti,  although  he  addressed  the  mem 
bers  of  his  family  by  the  surname  of  Simoni.     This 
proves  that  the  patronymic  usually  given  to  the  house 
at  large  was  still  Simoni,  and  that  Michelangelo  him 
self  acknowledged  that  name  in  a  legal  document. 
The  adoption  of  Buonarroti  by  his  brother* s  children 
and  descendants  may  therefore  be  ascribed  to  usage 
ensuing  from  the  illustration  of  their  race  by  so  re- 
nowned a  man.     It  should  also  be  observed  that  a1 
this  time  Michelangelo  is  always  described  in  deeds 
as  sculptor,  and  that  he  frequently  signs  with  Michel- 
angelo, Scultore,     Later  on  in  life  he  changed  his 


b( 


iliri 


FAMILY  PRIDE.  307 

views.  He  wrote  in  1548  to  his  nephew  Lionardo  :  ^ 
**  Tell  the  priest  not  to  write  to  me  again  as  Michel- 
angelo the  sculptor,  for  I  am  not  known  here  except 
as  Michelangelo  Buonarroti.  Say,  too,  that  if  a  citi- 
zen of  Florence  wants  to  have  an  altar-piece  painted, 
he  must  find  some  painter ;  for  I  was  never  either 
sculptor  or  painter  in  the  way  of  one  who  keeps  a 
shop.  I  have  always  avoided  that,  for  the  honour 
of  my  father  and  my  brothers.  True,  I  have  served 
^  three  Popes ;  but  that  was  a  matter  of  necessity." 
Earlier,  in  1543,  he  had  written  to  the  same  effect :  ^ 
"When  you  correspond  with  me,  do  not  use  the 
superscription  Michelangelo  Simon%  nor  sculptor ;  it 
is  enough  to  put  Michelangelo  Buonarroti,  for  that 
is  how  I  am  known  here."  On  another  occasion, 
advising  his  nephew  what  surname  the  latter  ought 
to  adopt,  he  says  : ^  "I  should  certainly  use  Simoni, 
and  if  the  whole  (that  is,  the  whole  list  of  patrony- 
mics in  use  at  Florence)  is  too  long,  those  who 
annot  read  it  may  leave  it  alone."  These  com- 
munications prove  that,  though  he  had  come  to  be 
known  as  Buonarroti,  he  did  not  wish  the  family  to 
irop  their  old  surname  of  Simoni.  The  reason  was 
;hat  he  believed  in  their  legendary  descent  from  the 
Jounts  of  Canossa  through  a  Podest^  of  Florence, 
;raditionally  known  as  Simone  da  Canossa.     This 


bis  ')i 


1  Lettere,  No.  cxcix.  2  Lettere,  No.  cxlvii. 

3  Lettere,  No.  clxxxviiL,  date  December  17,  1547.  Compare  No. 
Ixxii.,  December  1546,  where  he  insists  on  Lionardo's  using  the  full 
lame.  He  wanted  him  to  write  Lionardo  di  Buonarroto  Buonarroti 
Simoni, 


3o8  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 


Tl 


opinion  had  been  confirmed  in  1520,  as   we  have 
seen    above,    by    a    letter    he    received    from    the 
Conte  Alessandro   da  Canossa,  addressing  him   as 
"  Honoured  kinsman/*     In  the  correspondence  with  Li 
Lionardo,  Michelangelo  alludes  to  this   act  of  re-wi 
cognition  :  ^  "  You  will  find  a  letter  from  the  Conte  mi 
Alessandro  da  Canossa  in  the  book  of  contracts.    Hebe 
came  to  visit  me  at  Rome,  and  treated  me  like  ado 
relative.     Take  care  of  it."     The  dislike  expressed  he 
by  Michelangelo  to  be  called  sculptor,  and  addressed  y 
upon  the  same  terms  as  other  artists,  arose  from  a  keen  of 
sense  of  his  nobility.    The  feeling  emerges  frequently 
in  his  letters  between  1540  and  1550.     I  will  givcac( 
a  specimen :  ^   "As  to  the  purchase  of  a  house,  ]  trii 
repeat  that  you  ought  to  buy  one  of  honourable  coi 
condition,  at  1500  or  2000  crowns;  and  it  ought  to  b; 
be  in  our  quarter  (Santa  Croce),  if  possible.     I  sa] 
this,   because  an  honourable    mansion  in  the   cit]  Jti 
does  a  family  great  credit.     It  makes  more  impres 
sion  than  farms  in  the  country  ;  and  we  are  trul; 
burghers,  who  claim  a  very  noble  ancestry.     I  alway 
strove  my  utmost  to  resuscitate  our  house,  but  I  ha< 
not  brothers  able  to  assist  me.     Try  then  to  do  wha 
I  write  you,  and  make  Gismondo  come  back  to  liv 
in  Florence,  so  that  I  may  not  endure  the  shame  0 
hearing  it  said  here  that  I  have  a  brother  at  Settig 
nano  who  trudges  after  oxen.      One   day,  when 
find  the  time,  I  will  tell  you  all  about  our  origiB 
and  whence  we  sprang,  and  when  we  came  to  Flo 

^  Lettere,  Mo,  cxc.  ^  Lettere,  No.  clxxi.,  date  December  4,  1546 


lies: 


MICHELANGELO'S   SENSE   OF   DIGNITY.       309 

^^1  fence.     Perhaps  you  know  nothing  about  it ;   still 
^!  we  ought  not  to  rob  ourselves  of  what  God  gave  us." 
3i  The  same  feeling  runs  through  the  letters  he  wrote 
^tl  Lionardo  about  the  choice  of  a  wife.     One  example 
f«  will  suffice:^  "I  believe  that  in  Florence  there  are 
^^Imany  noble  and  poor  families  with  whom  it  would 
1  be  a  charity  to  form  connections.     If  there  were  no 
i  dower,  there  would  also  be  no  arrogance.     Pay  no 
61  beed  should  people  say  you  want  to  ennoble  your- 
6'  self,  since  it  is  notorious  that  we  are  ancient  citizens 
61  of  Florence,  and  as  noble  as  any  other  house." 
tl      Michelangelo,  as  we  know  now,  was  mistaken  in 
^  accepting  his  supposed  connection  with  the  illus- 
trious Counts  of  Canossa,  whose  castle  played  so 
^li  conspicuous  a  part  in  the  struggle  between  Hilde- 
^  brand  and  the  Empire,  and  who  were  imperially  allied 
a  through  the  connections  of  the  Countess  Matilda. 
Still  he  had  tradition  to  support  him,  confirmed  by 
the  assurance  of  the  head  of  the  Canossa  family. 
Nobody  could  accuse  him  of  being  a  snob  or  par- 
ivenu.     He   lived   like   a   poor  man,  indiiSferent  to 
dress,  establishment,  and  personal  appearances.    Yet 
he  prided  himself  upon  his  ancient  birth  ;  and  since 
the  Simoni  had  been  indubitably  noble  for  several 
generations,   there  was    nothing  despicable    in   his 
desire  to  raise  his  kinsfolk  to  their  proper  station. 
Almost  culpably  careless  in  all  things  that  concerned 
his  health  and  comfort,  he  spent  his  earnings  for  the 
welfare  of  his  brothers,  in  order  that  an  honourable 

^  Lettere,  No.  ccx.,  date  February  i,  1549. 


3IO  LIFE   OF  MICHELANGELO. 

posterity  might  carry  on  the  name  he  bore,  and  which 
he  made  illustrious.  We  may  smile  at  his  peevish- 
ness in  repudiating  the  title  of  sculptor  after  bear- 
ing it  through  so  many  years  of  glorious  labour ; 
but  when  he  penned  the  letter  I  have  quoted,  he 
was  the  supreme  artist  of  Italy,  renowned  as  painter, 
architect,  military  engineer ;  praised  as  poet ;  be- 
friended with  the  best  and  greatest  of  his  con- 
temporaries ;  recognised  as  unique,  not  only  in  the 
art  of  sculpture.  If  he  felt  some  pride  of  race,  we 
cannot  blame  the  plain-liver  and  high-thinker,  who, 
robbing  himself  of  luxuries  and  necessaries  even, 
enabled  his  kinsmen  to  maintain  their  rank  among 
folk  gently  born  and  nobly  nurtured.^ 


III. 

In  June  1 5 1 5  Michelangelo  was  still  working  at  th 
tomb  of  Julius.  But  a  letter  to  Buonarroto  shows 
that  he  was  already  afraid  of  being  absorbed  for 
other  purposes  by  Leo  :  ^  "  I  am  forced  to  put  great 
strain  upon  myself  this  summer  in  order  to  complete 
my  undertaking;  for  I  think  that  I  shall  soon  be 
obliged  to  enter  the  Pope's  service.  For  this  reason, 
I  have  bought  some  twenty  migliaia  [measure  of 

1  A  glance  at  the  pedigree  shows  how  the  Simoni  came  to  be  im- 
poverished after  the  death  of  Lodovico's  grandfather. 

2  Lettere,  No.  xcvii.,  date  June  16,  1515. 


LEO'S   MISUSE   OF  MICHELANGELO.  311 

Weight]  of  brass  to  cast  certain  figures."  The  monu- 
oaent  then  was  so  far  advanced  that,  beside  having  a 
^ood  number  of  the  marble  statues  nearly  finished, 
■he  was  on  the  point  of  executing  the  bronze  reliefs 
which  filled  their  interspaces.  We  have  also  reason 
to  believe  that  the  architectural  basis  forming  the 
foundation  of  the  sepulchre  had  been  brought  well 
forward,  since  it  is  mentioned  in  the  next  ensuing 
contracts. 

Just  at  this  point,  however,  when  two  or  three 
years  of  steady  labour  would  have  sufficed  to  termin- 
Q,|ate  this  mount  of  sculptured  marble,  Leo  diverted 
g  Michelangelo's  energies  from  the  work,  and  wasted 
them  in  schemes  that  came  to  nothing.  When 
Buonarroti  penned  that  sonnet  in  which  he  called 
the  Pope  his  Medusa,  he  might  well  have  been 
thinking  of  Leo,  though  the  poem  ought  probably 
to  be  referred  to  the  earlier  pontificate  of  Julius. 
Certainly  the  Medici  did  more  than  the  Delia  Rovere 
to  paralyse  his  power  and  turn  the  life  within  him 
into  stone.  Writing  to  Sebastiano  del  Piombo  in 
1 52 1,  Michelangelo  shows  how  fully  he  was  aware 
of  this.^  He  speaks  of  "the  three  years  I  have 
lost." 

A  meeting  had  been  arranged  for  the  late  autumn 
of  1 5 1 5  between  Leo  X.  and  Francis  L  at  Bologna. 
The  Pope  left  Eome  early  in  November,  and  reached 
Florence  on  the  30th.  The  whole  city  burst  into  a 
tumult  of  jubilation,  shouting  the  Medicean  cry  of 

1  Lettere,  No.  ccclxxiv. 


312  LIFE  OF  MICHELANGELO. 

'' Palle"  as  Leo  passed  slowly  through  the  streets, 
raised  in  his  pontifical  chair  upon  the  shoulders  of 
his  running  footmen.  Buonarroto  wrote  a  long  and 
interesting  account  of  this  triumphal  entry  to  his 
brother  in  Rome.^  He  describes  how  a  procession 
was  formed  by  the  Pope's  court  and  guard  and  the 
gentlemen  of  Florence.  *'  Among  the  rest,  there 
went  a  bevy  of  young  men,  the  noblest  in  our 
commonwealth,  all  dressed  alike  with  doublets  of 
violet  satin,  holding  gilded  staves  in  their  hands. 
They  paced  before  the  Papal  chair,  a  brave  sight  to 
see.  And  first  there  marched  his  guard,  and  then 
his  grooms,  who  carried  him  aloft  beneath  a  rich 
canopy  of  brocade,  which  was  sustained  by  members 
of  the  College,^  while  round  about  the  chair  walked 
the  Signory."  The  procession  moved  onward  to  the 
Church  of  S.  Maria  del  Fiore,  where  the  Pope  stayed 
to  perform  certain  ceremonies  at  the  high  altar,  after 
which  he  was  carried  to  his  apartments  at  S.  Maria 
Novella.*  Buonarroto  was  one  of  the  Priors  during 
this  month,  and  accordingly  he  took  an  ofiicial  part 
in  all  the  entertainments  and  festivities,  which  con- 
tinued for  three  days.  On  the  3rd  of  December  Leo 
left  Florence  for  Bologna,  where  Francis  arrived  upon 

1  Gotti,  i.  p.  104. 

2  Gollegi.  These  were  the  sixteen  iDanner-bearers  of  the  Companies, 
and  twelve  worthies  chosen  to  represent  the  quarters  of  the  town,  viho 
were  associated  as  colleagues  with  the  Signory.  See  Capponi's  Storia^ 
vol.  i.  p.  647.  The  Signory  was  formed  by  the  eight  Priors  of  the  Arts 
and  the  Gonfalouier  of  Justice. 

3  See  above,  p.  118,  note  2,  for  a  description  of  the  Papal  lodgings. 


LEO   AT   FLORENCE   AND   BOLOGNA.  313 

the  nth.  Their  conference  lasted  till  the  15th, 
when  Francis  returned  to  Milan.  On  the  i8th  Leo 
began  his  journey  back  to  Florence,  which  he  re- 
entered on  the  22nd.  On  Christmas  day  (Buonarroto 
I  writes  Pasqua)  a  grand  Mass  was  celebrated  at  S. 
Maria  Novella,  at  which  the  Signory  attended.  The 
Pope  celebrated  in  person,  and,  according  to  custom 
on  high  state  occasions,  the  water  with  which  he 
washed  his  hands  before  and  during  the  ceremony 
had  to  be  presented  by  personages  of  importance. 
"  This  duty,"  says  Buonarroto,  "  fell  first  to  one  of 
the  Signori,  who  was  Giannozzo  Salviati  ;  and  as  I 
happened  that  morning  to  be  Proposto,^  I  went 
the  second  time  to  offer  water  to  his  Holiness ;  the 
third  time,  this  was  done  by  the  Duke  of  Camerino, 
and  the  fourth  time  by  the  Gonfalonier  of  Justice." 
Buonarroto  remarks  that  "  he  feels  pretty  certain  it 
will  be  all  the  same  to  Michelangelo  whether  he 
hears  or  does  not  hear  about  these  matters.  Yet, 
from  time  to  time,  when  I  have  leisure,  I  scribble  a 
few  lines." 

Buonarroto  himself  was  interested  in  this  event;  for, 
having  been  one  of  the  Priors,  he  received  from  Leo 
the  title  of  Count  Palatine,  with  reversion  to  all  his 
posterity.  Moreover,  for  honourable  addition  to  his 
arms,  he  was  allowed  to  bear  a  chief  charged  with 
the  Medicean  ball  and  fleur-de-lys,  between  the  capital 
letters  L.  and  X. 

1  One  of  the  Priors  was  chosen  for  three  days  to  be  the  chairman  of 
the  Signory.     He  walked  before  the  rest,  and  so  forth. 


314  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

Whether  Leo  conceived  the  plan  of  finishing 
the  fagade  of  S.  Lorenzo  at  Florence  before  he  left 
Rome,  or  whether  it  occurred  to  him  during  this 
visit,  is  not  certain.  The  church  had  been  erected  by 
the  Medici  and  other  magnates  from  Brunelleschi's 
designs,  and  was  perfect  except  for  the  fa9ade.  In  its 
sacristy  lay  the  mortal  remains  of  Cosimo,  Lorenzo  the 
Magnificent,  and  many  other  members  of  the  Medi- 
cean  family.  Here  Leo  came  on  the  first  Sunday 
in  Advent  to  ofier  up  prayers,  and  the  Pope  is  said 
to  have  wept  upon  his  fathers  tomb.  It  may  pos- 
sibly have  been  on  this  occasion  that  he  adopted 
the  scheme  so  fatal  to  the  happiness  of  the  great 
sculptor.  Condivi  clearly  did  not  know  what  led 
to  Michelangelo's  employment  on  the  fagade  of  S. 
Lorenzo,  and  Vasari's  account  of  the  transaction  is 
involved.  Both,  however,  assert  that  he  was  wounded, 
even  to  tears,  at  having  to  abandon  the  monument 
of  Julius,  and  that  he  prayed  in  vain  to  be  relieved 
of  the  new  and  uncongenial  task. 


IV. 

Leo  at  first  intended  to  divide  the  work  between 
several  masters,  giving  Buonarroti  the  general  direc- 
tion of  the  whole.  He  ordered  Giuliano  da  San 
Gallo,  Rafi'aello  da  Urbino,  Baccio  d'Agnolo,  Andrea 
and   Jacopo    Sansovino    to   prepare   plans.     While 


PLANS   FOR  S.   LORENZO.  315 

these  were  in  progress,  Michelangelo  also  thought 
that  he  would  try  his  hand  at  a  design.  As  ill- 
luck  ruled,  Leo  preferred  his  sketch  to  all  the  rest. 
Vasari  adds  that  his  unwillingness  to  be  associated 
with  any  other  artist  in  the  undertaking,  and  his 
refusal  to  follow  the  plans  of  an  architect,  prevented 
the  work  from  being  executed,  and  caused  the  men 
selected  by  Leo  to  return  in  desperation  to  their 
ordinary  pursuits.^  There  may  be  truth  in  the  re- 
port ;  for  it  is  certain  that,  after  Michelangelo  had 
been  forced  to  leave  the  tomb  of  Julius  and  to  take 
part  in  the  fa9ade,  he  must  have  claimed  to  be  sole 
master  of  the  business.  The  one  thing  we  know 
about  his  mode  of  operation  is,  that  he  brooked  no 
rival  near  him,  mistrusted  collaborators,  and  found 
it  difficult  to  co-operate  even  with  the  drudges  whom 
he  hired  at  monthly  wages. 

Light  is  thrown  upon  these  dissensions  between 
Michelangelo  and  his  proposed  assistants  by  a 
letter  which  Jacopo  Sansovino  wrote  to  him  at 
Carrara  on  the  30th  of  June  1517.^  He  betrays  his 
animus  at  the  commencement  by  praising  Baccio 
Bandinelli,  to  mention  whom  in  the  same  breath 
with  Buonarroti  was  an  insult.  Then  he  proceeds  : 
"The  Pope,  the  Cardinal,  and  Jacopo  Salviati  are 

1  Vasari,  vol.  xii.  p.  201.  A  letter  written  by  B.  Bandinelli,  Dec. 
7,  1547,  corroborates  Vasari.  He  accuses  Michelangelo  of  having  wil- 
fully prevented  the  execution  of  the  fa9ade  out  of  jealousy  toward 
younger  masters,  and  a  grudge  against  the  Medici.    See  Lett  Pitt,  i.  70. 

^  Arch.  Buon.,  Cod.  xi.  No.  691.  Part  of  it  is  printed  by  Gotti,  vol.  i. 
p.  136. 


3i6  LIFE  OF   MICHELANGELO. 

men  who  when  they  say  yes,  it  is  a  written  con- 
tract, inasmuch  as  they  are  true  to  their  word,  and 
not  what  you  pretend  them  to  be.  You  measure 
them  with  your  own  rod  ;  for  neither  contracts  nor 
plighted  troth  avail  with  you,  who  are  always  say- 
ing nay  and  yea,  according  as  you  think  it  profitable. 
I  must  inform  you,  too,  that  the  Pope  promised  me 
the  sculptures,  and  so  did  Salviati ;  and  they  are 
men  who  will  maintain  me  in  my  right  to  them. 
In  what  concerns  you,  I  have  done  all  I  could  to 
promote  your  interests  and  honour,  not  having 
earlier  perceived  that  you  never  conferred  a  benefit 
on  any  one,  and  that,  beginning  with  myself,  to 
expect  kindness  from  you,  would  be  the  same  as 
wanting  water  not  to  wet.  I  have  reason  for  what  I 
say,  since  we  have  often  met  together  in  familiar  con- 
verse, and  may  the  day  be  cursed  on  which  you  ever 
said  any  good  about  anybody  on  earth."  How  Michel- 
angelo answered  this  intemperate  and  unjust  invective 
is  not  known  to  us.  In  some  way  or  other  the  quarrel 
between  the  two  sculptors  must  have  been  made  up 
—probably  through  a  frank  apology  on  Sansovino's 
part.  When  Michelangelo,  in  1524,  supplied  the 
Duke  of  Sessa  with  a  sketch  for  the  sepulchral 
monument  to  be  erected  for  himself  and  his  wife, 
he  suggested  that  Sansovino  should  execute  the  woTk, 
proving  thus  by  acts  how  undeserved  the  latter' s  hasty 
words  had  been.^ 

The  Church  of  S.  Lorenzo  exists  now  just  as  it 

1  Gotti,  i.  p.  177. 


THE  FAfADE  OF  S.  LORENZO.      317 

was  before  the  scheme  for  its  facade  occurred  to 
Leo.  Not  the  smallest  part  of  that  scheme  was 
carried  into  effect,  and  large  masses  of  the  marbles 
quarried  for  the  edifice  lay  wasted  on  the  Tyrrhene 
sea-shore.  We  do  not  even  know  what  design 
Michelangelo  adopted.  A  model  may  be  seen  in  the 
Accademia  at  Florence  ascribed  to  Baccio  d'Agnolo, 
and  there  is  a  drawing  of  a  fagade  in  the  Ufiizi  at- 
tributed to  Michelangelo,  both  of  which  have  been 
supposed  to  have  some  connection  with  S.  Lorenzo. 
It  is  hardly  possible,  however,  that  Buonarroti's  com- 
petitors could  have  been  beaten  from  the  field  by 
things  so  spiritless  and  ugly.  A  pen-and-ink  drawing 
at  the  Museo  Buonarroti  possesses  greater  merit,  and 
may  perhaps  have  been  a  first  rough  sketch  for  the 
fagade.  It  is  not  drawn  to  scale  or  worked  out  in 
the  manner  of  practical  architects ;  but  the  sketch 
exhibits  features  which  we  know  to  have  existed  in 
Buonarroti's  plan — masses  of  sculpture,  with  exten- 
sive bas-reliefs  in  bronze.  In  form  the  fagade  would 
not  have  corresponded  to  Brunelleschi's  building. 
That,  however,  signified  nothing  to  Italian  archi- 
tects, who  were  satisfied  when  the  frontispiece  to  a 
church  or  palace  agreeably  masked  what  lay  behind  it. 
I  As  a  frame  for  sculpture,  the  design  might  have  served 
its  purpose,  though  there  are  large  spaces  difficult 
to  account  for  ;  and  spiteful  folk  were  surely  jus- 
tified in  remarking  to  the  Pope  that  no  one  life 
sufficed  for  the  performance  of  the  whole. 

Nothing  testifies  more  plainly  to  the  ascendancy 


3i8  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

which  this  strange  man  acquired  over  the  imagination 
of  his  contemporaries,  while  yet  comparatively  young, 
than  the  fact  that  Michelangelo  had  to  relinquish  work  | 
for  which  he  was  pre-eminently  fitted  (the  tomb  of 
Julius)  for  work  to  which  his  previous  studies  and 
his  special  inclinations  in  nowise  called  him.  He 
undertook  the  fagade  of  S.  Lorenzo  reluctantly,  with 
tears  in  his  eyes  and  dolour  in  his  bosom,  at  the 
Pope  Medusa's  bidding.  He  was  compelled  to  re- 
commence art  at  a  point  which  hitherto  possessed 
for  him  no  practical  importance.  The  drawings  of 
the  tomb,  the  sketch  of  the  fagade,  prove  that  in 
architecture  he  was  still  a  novice.  Hitherto,  he 
regarded  building  as  the  background  to  sculpture, 
or  the  surface  on  which  frescoes  might  be  limned. 
To  achieve  anything  great  in  this  new  sphere  implied 
for  him  a  severe  course  of  preliminary  studies.  It 
depends  upon  our  final  estimate  of  Michelangelo  as 
an  architect  whether  we  regard  the  three  years  spent 
in  Leo's  service  for  S.  Lorenzo  as  wasted.  Being 
what  he  was,  it  is  certain  that,  when  the  commis- 
sion had  been  given,  and  he  determined  to  attack 
his  task  alone,  the  man  set  himself  down  to  grasp 
the  principles  of  construction.  There  was  leisure 
enough  for  such  studies  in  the  years  during  which 
we  find  him  moodily  employed  among  Tuscan  quar- 
ries. The  question  is  whether  this  strain  upon  his 
richly  gifted  genius  did  not  come  too  late.  When 
called  to  paint  the  Sistine,  he  complained  that  paint- 
ing was  no  art  of  his.     He  painted,  and  produced  a 


ARCHITECTURAL  STUDIES.  319 

! masterpiece  ;  but  sculpture  still  remained  the  major 
influence  in  all  he  wrought  there.  Now  he  was 
bidden  to  quit  both  sculpture  and  painting  for 
another  field,  and,  as  Vasari  hints,  he  would  not 
work  under  the  guidance  of  men  trained  to  architec- 
ture. The  result  was  that  Michelangelo  applied 
himself  to  building  with  the  full-formed  spirit  of 
a  figurative  artist.      The   obvious  defects  and  the 

("salient  qualities  of  all  he  afterwards  performed  as 
architect  seem  due  to  the  forced  diversion  of  his 
talent  at  this  period  to  a  type  of  art  he  had  not 
properly  assimilated.  Architecture  was  not  the 
natural  mistress  of  his  spirit.  He  bent  his  talents 
to  her  service  at  a  Pontijff's  word,  and,  with  the 
honest  devotion  to  work  which  characterised  the 
man,  he  produced  renowned  monuments  stamped  by 
his  peculiar  style.  Nevertheless,  in  building,  he  re- 
mains a  sublime  amateur,  aiming  at  scenical  efiect, 
subordinating  construction  to  decoration,  seeking 
ever  back  toward  opportunities  for  sculpture  or  for 
fresco,  and  occasionally  (as  in  the  cupola  of  S. 
Peter's)  hitting  upon  a  thought  beyond  the  reach 
of  inferior  minds. 

The  paradox  implied  in  this  diversion  of  our  hero 
from  the  path  it  ought  to  have  pursued  may  be  ex- 
plained in  three  ways.  First,  he  had  already  come 
to  be  regarded  as  a  man  of  unique  ability,  from 
whom  everything  could  be  demanded.  Next,  it 
was  usual  for  the  masters  of  the  Eenaissance,  from 
Leo  Battista  Alberti  down  to  Eaffaello  da  Urbino 


320  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 


I 


and  Lionardo  da  Vinci,  to  undertake  all  kinds  of 
technical  work  intrusted  to  their  care  by  patrons. 
Finally,  Michelangelo,  though  he  knew  that  sculpture 
was  his  goddess,  and  never  neglected  her  first  claim 
upon  his  genius,  felt  in  him  that  burning  ambition 
for  greatness,  that  desire  to  wrestle  with  all  forms  of 
beauty  and  all  depths  of  science,  which  tempted  him 
to  transcend  the  limits  of  a  single  art  and  try  his 
powers  in  neighbour  regions.  He  was  a  man  born 
to  aim  at  all,  to  dare  all,  to  embrace  all,  to  leave 
his  personality  deep-trenched  on  all  the  provinces 
of  art  he  chose  to  traverse. 


V. 

The  whole  of  1516  and  15 17  elapsed  before  Leo's 
plans  regarding  S.  Lorenzo  took  a  definite  shape. 
Yet  we  cannot  help  imagining  that  when  Michel- 
angelo cancelled  his  first  contract  with  the  executors 
of  Julius,  and  adopted  a  reduced  plan  for  the  monu- 
ment, he  was  acting  under  Papal  pressure.  This  was 
done  at  Eome  in  July,  and  much  against  the  will  of 
both  parties.  Still  it  does  not  appear  that  any  one 
contemplated  the  abandonment  of  the  scheme  ;  for 
Buonarroti  bound  himself  to  perform  his  new  con- 
tract within  the  space  of  nine  years,  and  to  engage 
"  in  no  work  of  great  importance  which  should  in- 
terfere with  its  fulfilment."     He  spent  a  large  part 


P3 

m 

03 


-5! 

Q 


RESIDENCE   AT   CARRARA.  321 

of  the  year  1 5 1 6  at  Carrara,  quarrying  marbles,  and 
even  hired  the  house  of  a  certain  Francesco  Pelliccia 
in  that  town.  On  the  i  st  of  November  he  signed 
an  agreement  with  the  same  Pelliccia  involving  the 
purchase  of  a  vast  amount  of  marble,  whereby  the 
said  Pelliccia  undertook  to  bring  down  four  statues 
of  4^  cubits  each  and  fifteen  of  4J  cubits  from 
the  quarries  where  they  were  being  rough-hewn.^ 
It  was  the  custom  to  block  out  columns,  statues,  &c., 
on  the  spot  where  the  stone  had  been  excavated,  in 
order  probably  to  save  weight  when  hauling.  Thus 
the  blocks  arrived  at  the  sea-shore  with  rudely  adum- 
brated outlines  of  the  shape  they  were  destined  to 
assume  under  the  artist's  chisel.  It  has  generally 
been  assumed  that  the  nineteen  figures  in  question 
were  intended  for  the  tomb.  What  makes  this  not 
quite  certain,  however,  is  that  the  contract  of  July 
specifies  a  greatly  reduced  quantity  and  scale  of 
statues.  Therefore  they  may  have  been  intended  for 
the  facade.  Anyhow,  the  contract  above-mentioned 
with  Francesco  Pelliccia  was  cancelled  on  the  7th 
of  April  following,  for  reasons  which  will  presently 
appear.^ 

During  the  month  of  November  1516  Michel- 
angelo received  notice  from  the  Pope  that  he  was 
wanted  in  Kome.  About  the  same  time  news  reached 
him  from  Florence  of  his  father's  severe  illness. 
On  the  23rd  he  wrote  as  follows  to  Buonarroto:* 
"I  gathered  from  your  last  that  Lodovico  was  on 

1  Vasari,  vol.  xii.  p.  352.        ^  Vasari,  xii.  353.       ^  Lettere^  No.  cxii. 
VOL.  I.  X 


322  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

the  point  of  dying,  and  how  the  doctor  finally  pro- 
nounced that  if  nothing  new  occurred  he  might  be 
considered  out  of  danger.  Since  it  is  so,  I  shall  not 
prepare  to  come  to  Florence,  for  it  would  be  very 
inconvenient  Still,  if  there  is  danger,  I  should 
desire  to  see  him,  come  what  might,  before  he  died, 
if  even  I  had  to  die  together  with  him.  I  have 
good  hope,  however,  that  he  will  get  well,  and  so 
I  do  not  come.  And  if  he  should  have  a  relapse 
— from  which  may  God  preserve  him  and  us — see 
that  he  lacks  nothing  for  his  spiritual  welfare  and 
the  sacraments  of  the  Church,  and  find  out  from 
him  if  he  wishes  us  to  do  anything  for  his  soul. 
Also,  for  the  necessaries  of  the  body,  take  care  that 
he  lacks  nothing;  for  I  have  laboured  only  and 
solely  for  him,  to  help  him  in  his  needs  before  he 
dies.  So  bid  your  wife  look  with  loving-kindness 
to  his  household  afiairs.  I  will  make  everything 
good  to  her  and  all  of  you,  if  it  be  necessary.  Do 
not  have  the  least  hesitation,  even  if  you  have  to 
expend  all  that  we  possess." 

We  may  assume  that  the  subsequent  reports 
regarding  Lodovico's  health  were  satisfactory ;  for 
on  the  5th  of  December  Michelangelo  set  out  for 
Rome.  The  executors  of  Julius  had  assigned  him 
free  quarters  in  a  house  situated  in  the  Trevi  dis- 
trict, opposite  the  public  road  which  leads  to  S. 
Maria  del  Loreto.^    Here,  then,  he  probably  took  up 

*  It  must  have  been  close  to  the  Forum  of  Trajan,  and  not  far  froi 
his  old  dwelling  at  the  Macello  de'  Corvi,  which  lies  below  the  Capitolinefl  lop 


Ifl 


TOMB  OF  JULIUS  AGAIN.  323 

his  abode.  We  have  seen  that  he  had  bound  him- 
self to  finish  the  monument  of  Julius  within  the 
space  of  nine  years,  and  to  engage  "in  no  work  of 
great  moment  which  should  interfere  with  its  per- 
formance." How  this  clause  came  to  be  inserted 
in  a  deed  inspired  by  Leo  is  one  of  the  difficulties 
with  which  the  whole  tragedy  of  the  sepulchre 
bristles.  Perhaps  we  ought  to  conjecture  that  the 
Pope's  intentions  with  regard  to  the  facade  of  S. 
Lorenzo  only  became  settled  in  the  late  autumn. 
At  any  rate,  he  had  now  to  transact  with  the  exe- 
cutors of  Julius,  who  were  obliged  to  forego  the 
rights  over  Michelangelo's  undivided  energies  which 
they  had  acquired  by  the  clause  I  have  just  cited. 
They  did  so  with  extreme  reluctance,  and  to  the 
bitter  disappointment  of  the  sculptor,  who  saw  the 
great  scheme  of  his  manhood  melting  into  air, 
q|  dwindling  in  proportions,  becoming  with  each  change 
less  capable  of  satisfactory  performance. 

Having  at  last  definitely  entered  the  service  of 
Pope  Leo,  Michelangelo  travelled  to  Florence,  and 
intrusted  Baccio  d'Agnolo  with  the  construction  of 
the  model  of  his  fagade.  It  may  have  been  upon 
the  occasion  of  this  visit  that  one  of  his  father's 
whimsical  fits  of  temper  called  out  a  passionate  and 
sorry  letter  from  his   son.     It  appears  that  Pietro 


iim 


Hill,  just  opposite  the  Column  of  Trajan.    Letters  are  addressed  to  him 
"  close  by  the  Church  of  Loreto."    Condi vi's  only  extant  letter  is  super- 
fjoil  scribed  :  "  A  Roma  vicino  la  piazza  di  S.  Apostolo  canto  la  chiesa  di 
jljm  Loreto  e  casa  Zanbeccari."     Arch.  Buon.,  Cod.  vii.  49. 


324  LIFE   OF  MICHELANGELO. 

Urbano,  Michelangelo's  trusty  henchman  at  this 
period,  said  something  which  angered  Lodovico,  and 
made  him  set  off  in  a  rage  to  Settignano  : ' — 

**  Dearest  Father, — I  marvelled  much  at  what 
had  happened  to  you  the  other  day,  when  I  did  not  I 
find  you  at  home.  And  now,  hearing  that  you  com- 
plain of  me,  and  say  that  I  have  turned  you  out  of 
doors,  I  marvel  much  the  more,  inasmuch  as  I  know 
for  certain  that  never  once  from  the  day  that  I  was 
born  till  now  had  I  a  single  thought  of  doing  anything 
or  small  or  great  which  went  against  you ;  and  all 
this  time  the  labours  I  have  undergone  have  been 
for  the  love  of  you  alone.  Since  I  returned  from 
Rome  to  Florence,  you  know  that  I  have  always 
cared  for  you,  and  you  know  that  all  that  belongs 
to  me  I  have  bestowed  on  you.  Some  days  ago, 
then,  when  you  were  ill,  I  promised  solemnly  never 
to  fail  you  in  anything  within  the  scope  of  my  whole 
faculties  so  long  as  my  life  lasts ;  and  this  I  again 
affirm.  Now  I  am  amazed  that  you  should  have  for- 
gotten everything  so  soon.  And  yet  you  have  learned 
to  know  me  by  experience  these  thirty  years,  you 
and  your  sons,  and  are  well  aware  that  I  have 
always  thought  and  acted,  so  far  as  I  was  able,  for 
your  good.  How  can  you  go  about  saying  I  have 
turned  you  out  of  doors  ?  Do  you  not  see  wha 
a  reputation  you  have  given  me  by  saying  I  hav 
turned  you  out  ?    Only  this  was  wanting  to  complete 

1  Lettere,  No.  xxxix. 


AT  WORK   ON   THE   FACADE.  325 

my  tale  of  troubles,  all  of  which  I  suffer  for  your 

I  love.  You  repay  me  well,  forsooth.  But  let  it  be 
as  it  must :  I  am  willing  to  acknowledge  that  I  have 
always  brought  shame  and  loss  on  you,  and  on  this 
i  supposition  I  beg  your  pardon.  Reckon  that  you 
are  pardoning  a  son  who  has  lived  a  bad  life  and 
done  you  all  the  harm  which  it  is  possible  to  do. 
And  so  I  once  again  implore  you  to  pardon  me, 
scoundrel  that  I  am,  and  not  bring  on  me  the  re- 
proach of  having  turned  you  out  of  doors  ;  for  that 
matters  more  than  you  imagine  to  me.  After  all,  I 
am  your  son." 

From  Florence  Michelangelo  proceeded  again  to 
Carrara  for  the  quarrying  of  marble.  This  was  on  the 
last  day  of  December.  From  his  domestic  correspond- 
ence we  find  that  he  stayed  there  until  at  least  the 
1 3th  of  March,  1517;  but  he  seems  to  have  gone  to 
Florence  just  about  that  date,  in  order  to  arrange 
matters  with  Baccio  d'Agnolo  about  the  model.  A  frag- 
mentary letter  to  Buonarroto,  dated  March  13,  shows 
that  he  had  begun  a  model  of  his  own  at  Carrara,  and 
that  he  no  longer  needed  Baccio's  assistance.^  On  his 
arrival  at  Florence  he  wrote  to  Messer  Buoninsegni, 
who  acted  as  intermediary  at  Rome  between  himsell 
and  the  Pope  in  all  things  that  concerned  the  fagade  :  ^ 

^  Lettere,  No.  cxiii. 

2  It  seems  to  have  been  the  custom  to  employ  these  go-betweens. 
Michelangelo  sometimes  found  them  very  troublesome,  and  expressed 
his  feelings  frankly  in  a  letter  to  Pope  Clement  VII.  See  Lettere, 
No.  ccclxxxi. 


326  LIFE  OF   MICHELANGELO. 

"  Messer  Domenico,  I  have  come  to  Florence  to  see 
the  model  which  Baccio  has  finished,  and  find  it  a 
mere  child's  plaything.  If  you  think  it  best  to  have 
it  sent,  write  to  me.  I  leave  again  to-morrow  for 
Carrara,  where  I  have  begun  to  make  a  model  in 
clay  with  Grassa  [a  stone-hewer  from  Settignano]." 
Then  he  adds  that,  in  the  long  run,  he  believes  that 
he  shall  have  to  make  the  model  himself,  which 
distresses  him  on  account  of  the  Pope  and  the  Car- 
dinal Giulio.  Lastly,  he  informs  his  correspondent 
that  he  has  contracted  with  two  separate  companies 
for  two  hundred  cartloads  of  Carrara  marble.^ 

An  important  letter  to  the  same  Domenico  Buon- 
insegni,  dated  Carrara,  May  2,  15 17,  proves  that 
Michelangelo  had  become  enthusiastic  about  his 
new  design.^  "  I  have  many  things  to  say  to  you. 
So  I  beg  you  to  take  some  patience  when  you  read 
my  words,  because  it  is  a  matter  of  moment.  Well, 
then,  I  feel  it  in  me  to  make  this  fagade  of  S. 
Lorenzo  such  that  it  shall  be  a   mirror  of  archi- 

*  Lettere,  No.  cccxlvi.  The  numerous  transactions  of  Michelangelo 
with  stone-masons,  owners  of  quarries,  and  so  forth,  at  Carrara,  between 
January  3  and  August  20,  15 17,  will  be  found  in  Lettere,  pp.  655-670. 
In  February  he  entered  into  partnership  with  a  certain  Lionardo  di 
Cagione.  They  were  to  work  together,  sharing  costs  and  profits.  In 
March  this  partnership  was  dissolved  '*  per  buon  rispetto." 

2  Lettere,  No.  cccxlviii.  One  of  the  inedited  letters  in  the  Arch. 
Buon.  from  Bernardo  Niccolini  to  Michelangelo  in  Carrara  (Cod.  x. 
No.  578,  date  May  18,  15 17)  throws  a  glimpse  of  light  upon  his  daily 
life.  It  is  indorsed  with  a  menu  for  some  meal :  "  Pani  dua,  un  bochal 
di  vino,  una  aringa,  tortegli,"  &c.  Each  item  is  accompanied  by  a  little 
pen-drawing :  two  loaves  of  bread,  a  glass  decanter,  a  herring,  three 
round  tarts  or  buns,  and  so  forth,  in  the  master's  autograph. 


LEO   X.   AND   GIULIO   DE'   MEDICI.  327 

lecture  and  of  sculpture  to  all  Italy.  But  the  Pope 
and  the  Cardinal  must  decide  at  once  whether  they 
want  to  have  it  done  or  not.  If  they  desire  it,  then 
they  must  come  to  some  definite  arrangement,  either 
intrusting  the  whole  to  me  on  contract,  and  leaving 
me  a  free  hand,  or  adopting  some  other  plan  which 
may  occur  to  them,  and  about  which  I  can  form 
no  idea."  He  proceeds  at  some  length  to  inform 
Buoninsegni  of  various  transactions  regarding  the 
purchase  of  marble,  and  the  difficulties  he  encounters 
in  procuring  perfect  blocks.  His  estimate  for  the 
costs  of  the  whole  fa§ade  is  35,000  golden  ducats, 
and  he  offers  to  carry  the  work  through  for  that  sum 
in  six  years.  Meanwhile  he  peremptorily  demands  an 
immediate  settlement  of  the  business,  stating  that  he 
is  anxious  to  leave  Carrara.  The  vigorous  tone  of  this 
document  is  unmistakable.  It  seems  to  have  impressed 
his  correspondents  ;  for  Buoninsegni  replies  upon 
the  8th  of  May  that  the  Cardinal  expressed  the 
highest  satisfaction  at  **the  great  heart  he  had  for 
conducting  the  work  of  the  fagade."  ^  At  the  same 
time  the  Pope  was  anxious  to  inspect  the  model. 

Leo,  I  fancy,  was  always  more  than  half-hearted 
about  the  fagade.  He  did  not  personally  sympathise 
with  Michelangelo's  character ;  and,  seeing  what  his 
tastes  were,  it  is  impossible  that  he  can  have  really 
appreciated  the  quality  of  his  genius.  Giulio  de' 
Medici,  afterwards  Pope  Clement  VII.,  was  more  in 
sympathy  with  Buonarroti  both  as  artist  and  as  man. 

^  Gotti,  i.  112. 


328  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

To  him  we  may  with  probability  ascribe  the  impulse 
given  at  this  moment  to  the  project.  After  several 
visits  to  Florence  during  the  summer,  and  much  cor- 
respondence with  the  Medici  through  their  Roman 
agent,  Michelangelo  went  finally,  upon  the  31st  of 
August,  to  have  the  model  completed  under  his  own 
eyes  by  a  workman  in  his  native  city.  It  was  care- 
fully constructed  of  wood,  showing  the  statuary  in 
wax-relief.  Nearly  four  months  were  expended  on 
this  miniature.  The  labour  was  lost,  for  not  a  ves- 
tige of  it  now  remains.  Near  the  end  of  December 
he  despatched  his  servant,  Pietro  Urbano,  with  the 
finished  work  to  Rome.  On  the  29th  of  that  month, 
Urbano  writes  that  he  exposed  the  model  in  Messer 
Buoninsegni's  apartment,  and  that  the  Pope  and 
Cardinal  were  very  well  pleased  with  it.^  Buoninsegni 
wrote  to  the  same  eflfect,  adding,  however,  that  folk 
said  it  could  never  be  finished  in  the  sculptor's  life- 
time, and  suggesting  that  Michelangelo  should  hire 
assistants  from  Milan,  where  he,  Buoninsegni,  had 
seen  excellent  stonework  in  progress  at  the  Duomo. 
Some  time  in  January  1 5 1 8,  Michelangelo  travelled 
to  Rome,  conferred  with  Leo,  and  took  the  fagade  of 
S.  Lorenzo  on  contract.^  In  February  he  returned 
by  way  of  Florence  to  Carrara,  where  the  quarry- 
masters  were  in  open  rebellion   against  him,  and 

^  Gotti,  i.  112. 

2  The  most  authentic  source  of  information  about  events  between 
December  5,  15 16,  aud  February  25,  15 18,  is  Michelangelo's  own  Ricordi, 
Lettere,  p.  568.  The  contract  is  dated  January  19,  15 18.  Lettere, 
Contr.  xxxiii.  p.  671. 


QUARRIES  AT   PIETRA  SANTA.  329 

refused  to  carry  out  their  contracts.  This  forced 
him  to  go  to  Genoa,  and  hire  ships  there  for  the 
transport  of  his  blocks.  Then  the  Carraresi  cor- 
rupted the  captains  of  these  boats,  and  drove  Michel- 
angelo to  Pisa  (April  7),  where  he  finally  made  an 
arrangement  with  a  certain  Francesco  Peri  to  ship 
the  marbles  lying  on  the  sea-shore  at  Carrara.^ 

The  reason  of  this  revolt  against  him  at  Carrara 
may  be  briefly  stated.  The  Medici  determined  to 
begin  working  the  old  marble  quarries  of  Pietra 
Santa,  on  the  borders  of  the  Florentine  domain,  and 
this  naturally  aroused  the  commercial  jealousy  of 
the  folk  at  Carrara.^  '*  Information,"  says  Condivi, 
"  was  sent  to  Pope  Leo  that  marbles  could  be  found 
in  the  high-lands  above  Pietra  Santa,  fully  equal 
in  quality  and  beauty  to  those  of  Carrara.  Michel- 
angelo, having  been  sounded  on  the  subject,  chose 
to  go  on  quarrying  at  Carrara  rather  than  to  take 
those  belonging  to  the  State  of  Florence.  This  he 
did  because  he  was  befriended  with  the  Marchese 
Alberigo,  and  lived  on  a  good  understanding  with 
him.  The  Pope  wrote  to  Michelangelo,  ordering 
him  to  repair  to  Pietra  Santa,  and  see  whether  the 
information  he  had  received  from  Florence  was  cor- 
rect. He  did  so,  and  ascertained  that  the  marbles 
were  very  hard  to  work,  and  ill-adapted  to  their  pur- 

1  Lettere,  Nos.  cccxlix.,  cxiv.,  cxv. 

2  By  a  deed  executed  May  18, 15 15,  the  commune  of  Seravezza  ceded 
to  Florence  all  its  property  in  quarries  between  the  mountains  of 
Altissimo  and  Ceresola.     Lettere,  Contr.  xv.  p.  643. 


330  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

pose  ;  even  had  they  been  of  the  proper  kind,  it  would 
be  difficult  and  costly  to  convey  them  to  the  sea. 
A  road  of  many  miles  would  have  to  be  made 
through  the  mountains  with  pick  and  crowbar,  and 
along  the  plain  on  piles,  since  the  ground  there  was 
marshy/  Michelangelo  wrote  all  this  to  the  Pope, 
who  preferred,  however,  to  believe  the  persons  who 
had  written  to  him  from  Florence.  So  he  ordered 
him  to  construct  the  road."  The  road,  it  may  paren- 
thetically be  observed,  was  paid  for  by  the  wealthy 
Wool  Corporation  of  Florence,  who  wished  to  revive 
this  branch  of  Florentine  industry.  '*  Michelangelo, 
carrying  out  the  Pope's  commands,  had  the  road  laid 
down,  and  transported  large  quantities  of  marbles  to 
the  sea-shore.  Among  these  were  five  columns  of 
the  proper  dimensions,  one  of  which  may  be  seen 
upon  the  Piazza  di  S.  Lorenzo.  The  other  four, 
forasmuch  as  the  Pope  changed  his  mind  and  turned 
his  thoughts  elsewhere,  are  still  lying  on  the  sea- 
beach.  Now  the  Marquis  of  Carrara,  deeming  that 
Michelangelo  had  developed  the  quarries  at  Pietra 
Santa  out  of  Florentine  patriotism,  became  his  enemy, 
and  would  not  suffer  him  to  return  to  Carrara  for  cer- 
tain blocks  which  had  been  excavated  there :  all  which 
proved  the  source  of  great  loss  to  Michelangelo."  ^ 

1  The  Arch.  Buon.  contains  an  inedited  letter  from  Fra  Massimiliano, 
Abbot  of  Camaiore,  about  the  construction  of  roads  on  the  sea-coast 
between  that  place  and  the  sea  (date  April  17, 1518,  Cod.  viii.  No.  373). 
It  has  some  biographical  interest,  since  the  exordium  hails  Michel* 
angelo  as  the  equal  of  Apelles,  Praxiteles,  and  Lysippus. 

2  Condivi,  p.  44. 


kESlDENCE  AT  SERRAVEZZA.  331 

When  the  contract  with  Francesco  Pelliccia  was 
^'lancelled,  April  7,  15 17,  the  project  for  developing 
he  Florentine  stone-quarries  does  not  seem  to  have 
aken  shape.^     We  must  assume,  therefore,  that  the 
notive  for  this  step  was  the  abandonment  of  the 
iomb.      The  Ricordi  show  that  Michelangelo  was 
till  buying  marbles  and  visiting  Carrara  down  to 
;he  end  of  February  1518.^    His  correspondence  from 
Pietra  Santa  and  Serravezza,  where  he  lived  when 
le  was  opening  the  Florentine  quarries  of  Monte 
\ltissimo,  does  not  begin,  with  any  certainty,  until 
VLarch  I5i'8.     We  have  indeed   one  letter  written 
:o  Girolamo  del  Bardella  of  Porto  Venere  upon  the 
3th  of  August,  without  date  of  year.     This  was  sent 
Tom  Serravezza,  and  Milanesi,  when  he  first  made 
ise  of  it,  assigned  it  to  151 7.'    Gotti,  following  that 
ndication,  asserts  that  Michelangelo  began  his  opera- 
ions  at  Monte  Altissimo  in  July  1 5 1 7 ;  but  Milanesi 
ifterwards  changed  his  opimon,  and  assigned  it  to 
:he  year  15 19.*    I  believe  he  was  right,  because  the 
first  letter,  bearing  a  certain  date  from  Pietra  Santa, 
was  written  in  March  15 18  to  Pietro  Urbano.     It 
contains  the  account  of  Michelangelo's  difficulties 
with  the  Carraresi,  and  his  journey  to  Genoa  and 
Pisa.^     We  have,  therefore,  every  reason  to  believe 

^  We  must  bear  in  mind,  however,  that  the  Arte  della  Lana  had 
icquired  property  in  them  so  far  back  as  the  year  1515.  See  above, 
p.  329,  note  2.  2  Lettere,  p.  568. 

3  Vasari,  vol.  xii.  p.  354-  *  Lettere,  No.  ccclxvii. 

^  Lettere,  No.  cccxlix.  Notice  that  Michelangelo's  Bicordo  (Lettere,  p. 
589)  gives  no  account  of  a  visit  to  Pietra  Santa,  and  winds  up  at  Carrara 


332  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO.  ' 

that  he  finally  abandoned  Carrara  for  Pietra  Santa 
at  the  end  of  February  1 5 1 8. 

Pietra  Santa  is  a  little  city  on  the  Tuscan  seaboard; 
Serravezza  is  a  still  smaller  fortress-town  at  the  foot 
of  the  Carrara  mountains.  Monte  Altissimo  rises 
above  it ;  and  on  the  flanks  of  that  great  hill  lie 
the  quarries  Delia  Finocchiaja,  which  Michelangelo 
opened  at  the  command  of  Pope  Leo.  It  was  not 
without  reluctance  that  Michelangelo  departed  from 
Carrara,  offending  the  Marquis  Malaspina,  breaking 
his  contracts,  and  disappointing  the  folk  with  whom 
he  had  lived  on  friendly  terms  ever  since  his  first 
visit  in  1505.  A  letter  from  the  Cardinal  Giulio 
de'  Medici  shows  that  great  pressure  was  put 
upon  him.^  It  runs  thus  :  **  We  have  received  yours, 
and  shown  it  to  our  Lord  the  Pope.  Considering 
that  all  your  doings  are  in  favour  of  Carrara,  you 
have  caused  his  Holiness  and  us  no  small  aston- 
ishment. What  we  heard  from  Jacopo  Salviati 
contradicts  your  opinion.  He  went  to  examine  the 
marble-quarries  at  Pietra  Santa,  and  informed  us 
that  there  are  enormous  quantities  of  stone,  excellent 

on  the  date  February  25,  15 18.  There  is  a  letter  from  Donate  Benti  to 
Michelangelo  in  Florence,  dated /rom  Pietra  Santa,  February  9,  15 18 
(Arch.  Buon.,  Cod.  vi.,  No,  53).  Another  from  Domenico  Boninsegni  to 
Michelangelo  in  Pietra  Santa,  dated  March  15 18  (ibid.y  Cod.  vi.,  No. 
103).  In  the  Archive  I  found  no  letter  addressed  to  Michelangelo  at 
Pietra  Santa  earlier  than  this.  I  may  here  observe  that  careful  ex- 
amination of  the  business  letters  written  to  Michelangelo  by  Salviati, 
Baccio  d'Agnolo,  Benti,  Buoninsegni,  Fattucci,  Topolino,  Niccolini, 
Urbano,  and  others,  may  still  throw  fresh  light  on  his  movements, 
1  Gotti,  vol.  i.  p.  TOQ. 


DIFFICULTIES   WITH   CARRARA.  333 

in  quality,  and  easy  to  bring  down.  This  being  the 
3ase,  some  suspicion  has  arisen  in  our  minds  that 
jTou,  for  your  own  interests,  are  too  partial  to  the 
juarries  of  Carrara,  and  want  to  depreciate  those  of 
Pietra  Santa.  This,  of  a  truth,  would  be  wrong  in 
you,  considering  the  trust  we  have  always  reposed 
in  your  honesty.  Wherefore  we  inform  you  that, 
regardless  of  any  other  consideration,  his  Holiness 
wills  that  all  the  work  to  be  done  at  S.  Peter's  or 
S.  Reparata,  or  on  the  fajade  of  S.  Lorenzo,  shall  be 
carried  out  with  marbles  supplied  from  Pietra  Santa, 
and  no  others,  for  the  reasons  above  written.  More- 
over, we  hear  that  they  will  cost  less  than  those  of 
Carrara;  but,  even  should  they  cost  more,  his  Holiness 
s  firmly  resolved  to  act  as  I  have  said,  furthering 
bhe  business  of  Pietra  Santa  for  the  public  benefit 
of  the  city.  Look  to  it,  then,  that  you  carry  out  in 
detail  all  that  we  have  ordered  without  fail ;  for  if 
you  do  otherwise,  it  will  be  against  the  expressed 
wishes  of  his  Holiness  and  ourselves,  and  we  shall 
lave  good  reason  to  be  seriously  wroth  with  you. 
Our  agent  Domenico  (Buoninsegni)  is  bidden  to  write 
:o  the  same  effect.  Reply  to  him  how  much  money 
you  want,  and  quickly,  banishing  from  your  mind 
every  kind  of  obstinacy." 

Michelangelo  began  to  work  with  his  usual  energy 
at  roadmaking  and  quarrying.  What  he  learned  of 
practical  business  as  engineer,  architect,  master  of 
works,  and  paymaster  during  these  years  among 
the   Carrara    mountains   must    have    been   of  vast 


334  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO.  jj 

importance  for  his  future  work.  He  was  preparing 
himself  to  organise  the  fortifications  of  Florence 
and  the  Leonine  City,  and  to  crown  S.  Peter's 
with  the  cupola.  Quarrying,  as  I  have  said,  im- 
plied cutting  out  and  rough-hewing  blocks  exactly 
of  the  right  dimensions  for  certain  portions  of  a 
building  or  a  piece  of  statuary.  The  master  was 
therefore  obliged  to  have  his  whole  plan  perfect  in 
his  head  before  he  could  venture  to  order  marble. 
Models,  drawings  made  to  scale,  careful  measure-^ 
ments,  were  necessary  at  each  successive  step.  Day^ 
and  night  Buonarroti  was  at  work  ;  in  the  saddle 
early  in  the  morning,  among  stone-cutters  and  road- 
makers  ;  in  the  evening,  studying,  projecting,  calcu- 
lating, settling  up  accounts  by  lamplight. 


i 


VI. 


The  narrative  of  Michelangelo's  personal  life  and 
movements  must  here  be  interrupted  in  order  to 
notice  an  event  in  which  he  took  no  common  in- 
terest.  The  members  of  the  Florentine  Academy 
addressed  a  memorial  to  Leo  X.,  requesting  him  to 
authorise  the  translation  of  Dante  Alighieri's  bones 
from  E-avenna  to  his  native  city.  The  document 
was  drawn  up  in  Latin,  and  dated  October  20,  15 18.* 

1  See  Condivi,  p.  139,  or  Gotti,  ii.  p.  82.     The  original  is  shown  in 
the  rooms  of  the  State  Archives  at  the  Uffizi. 


SONNETS   ON   DANTE.  335 

jAmong  the  names  and  signatures  appended,  Michel- 
angelo's alone  is  written  in  Italian :  "I,  Michel- 
angelo, the  sculptor,  pray  the  like  of  your  Holiness, 
offering  my  services  to  the  divine  poet  for  the  erec- 
tion of  a  befitting  sepulchre  to  him  in  some  honour- 
able place  in  this  city."  Nothing  resulted  from  this 
petition,  and  the  supreme  poet's  remains  still  rest 
beneath  "the  little  cupola,  more  neat  than  solemn," 
guarded  by  Pietro  Lombardi's  half-length  portrait. 

Of  Michelangelo's  special  devotion  to  Dante  and 
the  **  Divine  Comedy  "  we  have  plenty  of  proof  In 
the  first  place,  there  exist  the  two  fine  sonnets 
to  his  memory,  which  were  celebrated  in  their 
author's  lifetime,  and  still  remain  among  the  best  of 
his  performances  in  verse.^  It  does  not  appear  when 
they  were  composed.  The  first  is  probably  earlier 
than  the  second ;  for  below  the  autograph  of  the 
latter  is  written,  "  Messer  Donato,  you  ask  of  me 
what  I  do  not  possess."  The  Donato  is  undoubtedly 
Donato  Giannotti,  with  whom  Michelangelo  lived  on 
very  familiar  terms  at  Eome  about  1545.  I  will  here 
insert  my  English  translation  of  these  sonnets : — 

From  heaven  his  spirit  came,  and,  robed  in  clay, 
The  realms  of  justice  and  of  mercy  trod : 
Then  rose  a  living  man  to  gaze  on  God, 
That  he  might  make  the  truth  as  clear  as  day. 

For  that  pure  star,  that  brightened  with  his  ray 
The  undeserving  nest  where  I  was  born. 
The  whole  wide  world  would  be  a  prize  to  scorn  ; 
None  but  his  Maker  can  due  guerdon  pay. 


^  Bime  :  Sonnets,  Nos.  i.  and  ii. 


336  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

I  speak  of  Dante,  whose  high  work  remains 
Unknown,  unhonoured  by  that  thankless  brood, 
Who  only  to  just  men  deny  their  wage. 

Were  I  but  he  !     Bom  for  like  lingering  pains, 
Against  his  exile  coupled  with  his  good 
I  'd  gladly  change  the  world's  best  heritage  ! 

No  tongue  can  tell  of  him  what  should  be  told. 
For  on  blind  eyes  his  splendour  shines  too  strong ; 
'T  were  easier  to  blame  those  who  wrought  him  wrong, 
Than  sound  his  least  praise  with  a  mouth  of  gold. 

He  to  explore  the  place  of  pain  was  bold, 

Then  soared  to  God,  to  teach  our  souls  by  song ; 
The  gates  heaven  oped  to  bear  his  feet  along, 
Against  his  just  desire  his  country  rolled. 

Thankless  I  call  her,  and  to  her  own  pain 

The  nurse  of  fell  mischance  ;  for  sign  take  this, 
That  ever  to  the  best  she  deals  more  scorn  ; 

Among  a  thousand  proofs  let  one  remain  ; 

Though  ne'er  was  fortune  more  unjust  than  his, 
His  equal  or  his  better  ne'er  was  born. 


. 


The  influence  of  Dante  over  Buonarroti's  style  of 
composition   impressed  his    contemporaries.    Bene-| 
detto  Varchi,  in  the  proemium  to    a  lecture  uponi 
one  of  Michelangelo's  poems,   speaks  of  it  as   "a 
most  sublime  sonnet,  full  of  that  antique  purity  and 
Dantesque  gravity."  ^  Dante's  influence  over  the  great 
artist's  pictorial  imagination  is  strongly  inarEed  in 
the  fresco  of  the  Last  Judgment,  where  Charon's 
boat,  and  Minos  with  his  twisted  tail,  are  borrowed  1 
direct  from  the  Inferno.     Condivi,  moreover,  informslj 


in 
ip 
\ 
\i 


us  that  the  statues  of  the  Lives  Contemplative  and 
Active  upon  the  tomb  of  Julius  were  suggested  by 

1  Bimey  p.  Ixixvii 


1 

'585 

Hi 


MICHELANGELO   AND   DANTE.  337 

he  Rachel  and  Leah  of  the  Purgatorio,  We  also 
now  that  he  filled  a  book  with  drawings  illustrative 
)f  the  "  Divine  Comedy."  By  a  miserable  accident 
his  most  precious  volume,  while  in  the  possession  of 
intonio  Montauti,  the  sculptor,  perished  at  sea  on  a 
ourney  from  Livorno  to  Rome. 

But  the  strongest  proof  of  Michelangelo's  repu- 
ation  as  a  learned  student  of  Dante  is  given  in  Don- 
Lto  Giannotti's  Dialogue  upon  the  number  of  days 
pent  by  the  poet  during  his  journey  through  Hell 
ind  Purgatory.^  Luigi  del  Riccio,  who  was  a  great 
riend  of  the  sculptor's,  is  supposed  to  have  been 
talking  one  day  toward  the  Lateran  with  Antonio 
etreo.  Their  conversation  fell  upon  Cristoforo 
andino's  theory  that  the  time  consumed  by  Dante 
Q  this  transit  was  the  whole  of  the  night  of  Good 
f'riday,  together  with  the  following  day.  While  en- 
gaged in  this  discussion,  they  met  Donato  Giannotti 
aking  the  air  with  Michelangelo.  The  four  friends 
'^ined  company,  and  Petreo  observed  that  it  was  a 
ingular  good  fortune  to  have  fallen  that  morning 
ipon  two  such  eminent  Dante  scholars.  Donato 
eplied  :  "  With  regard  to  Messer  Michelangelo,  you 
lave  abundant  reason  to  say  that  he  is  an  eminent 
)antista,  since  I  am  acquainted  with  no  one  who 
mderstands  him  better  and  has  a  fuller  mastery  over 
^!  is  works."  It  is  not  needful  to  give  a  detailed 
11'  ccount    of  Buonarroti's   Dantesque     criticism,   re- 

*  De'  giorni  che  Dante  consnmd^  &c.  Firenze :  Tip.  Qalileiana, 
589.  Sufficient  excerpts  will  be  found  in  Guasti's  Rime,  pp.  xxvi  - 
Kxiv. 

VOL.  I.  V 


ll 


338  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

ported  in  these  dialogues,  although  there  are  good 
grounds  for  supposing  them  in  part  to  represenl| 
exactly  what  Giannotti  heard  him  say.  This  applieai 
particularly  to  his  able  interpretation  of  the  reason 
why  Dante  placed  Brutus  and  Cassius  in  hell — not 
as  being  the  murderers  of  a  tyrant,  but  as  having 
laid  violent  hands  upon  the  sacred  majesty  of  the 
Empire  in  the  person  of  Caesar.  The  narrative  ofj^ 
Dante^s  journey  through  Hell  and  Purgatory,  which 
is  put  into  Michelangelo's  mouth,  if  we  are  to  believe 
that  he  really  made  it  extempore  and  without  book, 
shows  a  most  minute  knowledge  of  the  Inferno. 


VII.  J 

1 

Michelangelo's  doings  at  Serravezza  can  be  tracec 

with  some  accuracy  during  the  summers  of  1 5 1 8  anj  if 
1 519.  An  important  letter  to  Buonarroto,  dated  li 
April  2,  1 5 18,  proves  that  the  execution  of  the  roac 
had  not  yet  been  decided  on.^  He  is  impatient 
hear  whether  the  Wool  Corporation  has  voted  thljft 
necessary  funds  and  appointed  him  to  engineei 
it.  "With  regard  to  the  construction  of  the  roai 
here,  please  tell  Jacopo  Salviati  that  I  shall  carry  ott! 
his  wishes,  and  he  will  not  be  betrayed  by  me.  I  d< 
not  look  after  any  interests  of  my  own  in  this  mattei 
but  seek  to  serve  my  patrons  and  my  country.     If  1 

^  Letters,  No.  cxiv. 


ii 


Hr 


i 


PIETRA   SANTA   CONTRACT.  339 

ibegged  the  Pope  and  Cardinal  to  give  me  full  control 
over  the  business,  it  was  that  I  might  be  able  to 
conduct  it  to  those  places  where  the  best  marbles 
;are.  Nobody  here  knows  anything  about  them.  I 
did  not  ask  for  the  commission  in  order  to  make 
jmoney ;  nothing  of  the  sort  is  in  my  head."  This 
proves  conclusively  that  much  which  has  been 
written  about  the  waste  of  Michelangelo's  abilities 
on  things  a  lesser  man  might  have  accomplished  is 
merely  sentimental.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  even 
accused  of  begging  for  the  contract  from  a  desire 
to  profit  by  it.  In  another  letter,  of  April  18,  the 
decision  of  the  Wool  Corporation  was  still  anxiously 
fexpected.^  Michelangelo  gets  impatient.  "  I  shall 
■nount  my  horse,  and  go  to  find  the  Pope  and 
Cardinal,  tell  them  how  it  is  with  me,  leave  the 
business  here,  and  return  to  Carrara.  The  folk  there 
Ipray  for  my  return  as  one  is  wont  to  pray  to  Christ." 
Then  he  complains  of  the  worthlessness  and  dis- 
loyalty of  the  stone-hewers  he  brought  from  Florence, 
md  winds  up  with  an  angry  postscript :  "  Oh,  cursed 
i  thousand  times  the  day  and  hour  when  I  left 
Darrara !  This  is  the  cause  of  my  utter  ruin.  But 
[  shall  go  back  there  soon.  Nowadays  it  is  a  sin  to 
jio  one's  duty."  On  the  22nd  of  April  the  Wool  Cor- 
l^oration  assigned  to  Michelangelo  a  contract  for  the 
Ijuarries,  leaving  him  free  to  act  as  he  thought  best.^ 

^  Lettere,  No.  cxvi. 

^  Lettere,  p.  137,  note.    The  text  of  this  charter  is  given,  ibid.,  Contr. 
:xxvii.  p.  679.     It  appointed  Michelangelo  to  life-management  and  a 
^  iionopoly. 


I 


340  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

Complaints  follow  about  his  workmen/  One  passagd 
is  curious :  *'  Sandro,  he  too  has  gone  away  from 
here.  He  stopped  several  months  with  a  mule  and 
a  little  mule  in  grand  style,  doing  nothing  but  fish 
and  make  love.  He  cost  me  a  hundred  ducats 
to  no  purpose ;  has  left  a  certain  quantity  oi 
marble,  giving  me  the  right  to  take  the  block 
that  suit  my  purpose.  However,  I  cannot  fine 
among  them  what  is  worth  twenty-five  ducats,  the 
whole  being  a  jumble  of  rascally  work.  Eithei 
maliciously  or  through  ignorance,  he  has  treatec 
me  very  ill." 

Upon  the  1 7th  April  1 5 1 7,  Michelangelo  hac 
bought  a  piece  of  ground  in  Via  Mozza,  now  Via  S 
Zanobi,  at  Florence,  from  the  Chapter  of  S.  Marij 
del  Fiore,  in  order  to  build  a  workshop  there.  H 
wished,  about  the  time  of  the  last  letter  quoted,  t<| 
get  an  additional  lot  of  land,  in  order  to  have  largej 
space  at  his  command  for  the  finishing  of  marbles 
The  negotiations  went  on  through  the  summer  c 
15 18,  and  on  the  24th  of  November  he  records  tha 
the  purchase  was  completed.  Premises  adapted  t 
the  sculptor's  purpose  were  erected,  which  remaine 

^  Lettere,  Nos.  cxviii.,  cxix.  Sandro  was  a  stone-hewer  of  Settignan 
the  brother  of  Michelangelo's  friend  Topolino.  By  a  deed,  dated  Marc 
15,  1 5 18,  it  seems  that  he  brought  eight  stone-cutters  from  Settignar 
and  its  neighbourhood,  ibid.,  Contr.  xxxiv.  p.  673.  Compare  Nos.  xxxiy 
xL,  xlii.  On  April  27, 1 5 1 8,  he  executed  a  power  of  attorney,  constitutir 
Donato  di  Battista  Benti,  a  Florentine,  his  agent-in-chief  at  Pietra  Sant 
ibid,.  No.  xxiviii.  p.  681.  The  Arch.  Buon.,  Cod.  vi.  Nos.  53-81,  co: 
tains  twenty-nine  business  letters  from  this  Benti,  between  Februail 
19,  1518,  and  July  7,  1521.  "^'^ 


QUARRYING  AND   ROAD-MAKING.  341 

n  Michelangelo's  possession  until  the  close  of  his 
ife.^ 

In  August  1 5 18  he  writes  to  a  friend  at  Florence 
hat  the  road  is  now  as  good  as  finished,  and  that 
le  is  bringing  down  his  columns.^  The  work  is  more 
iifficult  than  he  expected.  One  man's  life  had  been 
ilready  thrown  away,  and  Michelangelo  himself  was 
n  great  danger.  "  The  place  where  we  have  to  quarry 
s  exceedingly  rough,  and  the  workmen  are  very 
stupid  at  their  business.  For  some  months  I  must 
''nake  demands  upon  my  powers  of  patience  until 
:he  mountains  are  tamed  and  the  men  instructed. 
A-fterwards  we  shall  proceed  more  quickly.  Enough, 
:hat  I  mean  to  do  what  I  promised,  and  shall  pro- 
luce  the  finest  thing  that  Italy  has  ever  seen,  if 
aod  assists  me." 

" '   There  is  no  want  of  heart  and  spirit  in  these  letters, 
trritable  at  moments,  Michelangelo  was  at  bottom 
'Enthusiastic,    and,  like   Napoleon   Buonaparte,   felt 
capable  of  conquering  the  world  with  his  sole  arm. 
In  September  we   find  him  back  again  at  Flor- 
ence, where  he  seems  to  have  spent  the  winter.    His 
'friends  wanted  him  to  go  to  Eome;  they  thought 
iD(::hat  his  presence  there  was  needed  to  restore  the  con- 
idence  of  the  Medici  and  to  overpower  calumniating 
rivals.     In  reply  to  a  letter  of  admonition  written 
in  this  sense  by  his  friend  Lionardo  di  Compagno, 

1  Lettere,  p.  141,  note  i  ;  p.  575.     A  letter  from  Daniele  da  Volterra, 
'^jiated   May  8,  1557,  mentions  a  visit  to  **la  bottega  in  Via  Mozza." 
ircli.  Buon.,  Cod.  x.  No.  646, 
^  Lettere,  No.  ccclvi. 


34*  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

the  saddle-maker,  he  writes :  ^  **  Your  urgent  solici- 
tations  are  to  me  so  many  stabs  of  the  knife.  I  am 
dying  of  annoyance  at  not  being  able  to  do  what  I 
should  like  to  do,  through  my  ill-luck."  At  the 
same  time  he  adds  that  he  has  now  arranged  an 
excellent  workshop,  where  twenty  statues  can  be  set 
up  together.  The  drawback  is  that  there  are  no 
means  of  covering  the  whole  space  in  and  protecting 
it  against  the  weather.  This  yard,  encumbered  with 
the  marbles  for  S.  Lorenzo,  must  have  been  in  the 
Via  Mozza. 

Early  in  the  spring  he  removed  to  Serravezza,  and 
resumed  the  work  of  bringing  down  his  blocked-out 
columns  from  the  quarries.  One  of  these  pillars,  six 
of  which  he  says  were  finished,  was  of  huge  size, 
intended  probably  for  the  flanks  to  the  main  door 
at  S.  Lorenzo.  It  tumbled  into  the  river,  and  was 
smashed  to  pieces.  Michelangelo  attributed  the 
accident  solely  to  the  bad  quality  of  iron  which  a 
rascally  fellow  had  put  into  the  lewis-ring  by  means 
of  which  the  block  was  being  raised.^  On  this  occasion 
he  again  ran  considerable  risk  of  injury,  and  sufi'ered 
great  annoyance.  The  following  letter  of  condolence, 
written  by  Jacopo  Salviati,  proves  how  much  he  was 
grieved,  and  also  shows  that  he  lived  on  excellent 
terms  with  the  Pope's  right-hand  man  and  coun- 
sellor :  ^  "  Keep  up  your  spirits  and  proceed  gallantly 

'  Lettere,  No.  ccclix.,  date  Dec.  21,  1518. 

^  Lettere,  No.  ccclxiv.,  to  Pietro  Urbauo,  April  20,  1519. 

3  Gotti,  i.  126. 


DIFFICULTIES   OF  THE   WORK.  343 

with  your  great  enterprise,  for  your  honour  requires 
this,  seeing  you  have  commenced  the  work.  Confide 
in  me ;  nothing  will  be  amiss  with  you,  and  our 
Lord  is  certain  to  compensate  you  for  far  greater 
losses  than  this.  Have  no  doubt  upon  this  point, 
and  if  you  want  one  thing  more  than  another,  let 
me  know,  and  you  shall  be  served  immediately. 
Remember  that  your  undertaking  a  work  of  such 
magnitude  will  lay  our  city  under  the  deepest 
obhgation,  not  only  to  yourself,  but  also  to  your 
family  for  ever.  Great  men,  and  of  courageous 
spirit,  take  heart  under  adversities,  and  become 
more  energetic." 

A  pleasant  thread  runs  through  Michelangelo's 
correspondence  during  these  years.  It  is  the  affection 
he  felt  for  his  workman  Pietro  Urbano.^  When  he 
leaves  the  young  man  behind  him  at  Florence,  he 
writes  frequently,  giving  him  advice,  bidding  him 
mind  his  studies,  and  also  telling  him  to  confess. 
It  happened  that  Urbano  fell  ill  at  Carrara  toward 
the  end  of  August.  Michelangelo,  on  hearing  the 
news,  left  Florence  and  travelled  by  post  to  Carrara. 
Thence  he  had  his  friend  transported  on  the  backs  of 
men  to  Serravezza,  and  after  his  recovery  sent  him 
to  pick  up  strength  in  his  native  city  of  Pistoja.  In 
one  of  the  Ricoi^di  he  reckons  the  cost  of  all  this  at 
33^  ducats.^ 

^  Pietro,  in  a  letter  written  from  Home,  calla  him  **' charissimo  quanto 
padre." 

*  Lettere,  p.  579.  During  his  convalescence  at  Pistoja,  Urbano  wrote 
au  affectionate  letter  to  his  master,  which  I  shall  use  in  Chapter  XV. 


344  LIFE  OF  MICHELANGELO. 

While  Michelangelo  was  residing  at  Pietra  Santa 
in  15 18,  his  old  friend  and  fellow-worker,  Pietro 
Rosselli,  wrote  to  him  from  Eome,  asking  his  advice 
about  a  tabernacle  of  marble  which  Pietro  Sode- 
rini  had  ordered.  It  was  to  contain  the  head  of  S. 
John  the  Baptist,  and  to  be  placed  in  the  Church  of 
the  Convent  of  S.  Silvestro.^  On  the  7th  of  June 
Soderini  wrote  upon  the  same  topic,  requesting  a 
design.  This  Michelangelo  sent  in  October,  the 
execution  of  the  shrine  being  intrusted  to  Federigo 
Frizzi.  The  incident  would  hardly  be  worth  mention- 
ing, except  for  the  fact  that  it  brings  to  mind  one 
of  Michelangelo's  earliest  patrons,  the  good-hearted 
Gonfalonier  of  Justice,  and  anticipates  the  coming 
of  the  only  woman  he  is  known  to  have  cared  for, 
Vittoria  Colonna.  It  was  at  S.  Silvestro  that  she 
dwelt,  retired  in  widowhood,  and  here  occurred  those 
Sunday  morning  conversations  of  which  Francesco 
d'Olanda  has  left  us  so  interesting  a  record. 

During  the  next  year,  15 19,  a  certain  Tommaso 
di  Dolfo  invited  him  to  visit  Adrianople.^  He 
reminded  him  how,  coming  together  in  Florence, 
when  Michelangelo  lay  there  in  hiding  from  Pope 
Julius,  they  had  talked  about  the  East,  and  he  had 
expressed  a  wish  to  travel  into  Turkey.  Tommaso  di 
Dolfo  dissuaded  him  on  that  occasion,  because  the 


\ 


1  It  does  not  seem  to  have  been  completed. 

^  Arch.  Buon.,  Cod.  xi.  No.  724.     I  have  followed  Gotti's  version   ' 
of  this  man's  name.     In  the  manuscript  it  seemed  to  me  more  like 
Tommaso  di  Toipo. 


SEBASTIANO   DEL  PIOMBO.  345 

ruler  of  the  province  was  a  man  of  no  taste  and 
careless  about  the  arts.  Things  had  altered  since, 
and  he  thought  there  was  a  good  opening  for  an 
able  sculptor.  Things,  however,  had  altered  in  Italy 
also,  and  Buonarroti  felt  no  need  to  quit  the  country 
where  his  fame  was  growing  daily. 

Considerable  animation  is  introduced  into  the 
annals  of  Michelangelo's  life  at  this  point  by  his 
correspondence  with  jovial  Sebastiano  del  Piombo. 
We  possess  one  of  this  painter's  letters,  dating 
as  early  as  1510,  when  he  thanks  Buonarroti 
for  consenting  to  be  godfather  to  his  boy  Luciano ; 
a  second,  of  15 12,  which  contains  the  interesting 
account  of  his  conversation  with  Pope  Julius  about 
Michelangelo  and  Raffaello ;  and  a  third,  of  1 5 1 8, 
turning  upon  the  rivalry  between  the  two  great 
artists.^  But  the  bulk  of  Sebastiano's  gossipy 
and  racy  communications  belongs  to  the  period 
of  thirteen  years  between  1520  and  1533;^  then 
it  suddenly  breaks  off,  owing  to  Michelangelo's 
having  taken  up  his  residence  at  Rome  during 
the  autumn  of  1533.  A  definite  rupture  at  some 
subsequent  period  separated  the  old  friends.  These 
letters  are  a  mine  of  curious  information  respect- 
ing artistic  life  at  Rome.  They  prove,  beyond  the 
possibility  of  doubt,  that,  whatever  Buonarroti  and 

*  Published  respectively  by  Bottari,  vol.  viii.  p.  42  ;  Gaye,  vol.  ii. 
p.  487  ;  and  Gotti,  vol.  ii.  p.  56. 

^  Published  in  one  volume  by  Milanesi  and  Le  Pileur,  Zes  Gorre- 
»pondants  de  Michel-Ange,  I.  Seb.  del  Piombo.  Paris:  Librairie  de 
TArt,  1890. 


346  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

Sanzio  may  have  felt,  their  flatterers,  dependants, 
and  creatures  cherished  the  liveliest  hostility  and 
lived  in  continual  rivalry.  It  is  somewhat  painful 
to  think  that  Michelangelo  could  have  lent  a 
willing  ear  to  the  malignant  babble  of  a  man  so 
much  inferior  to  himself  in  nobleness  of  nature — 
have  listened  when  Sebastiano  taunted  RafFaello  as 
**  Prince  of  the  Synagogue,"  or  boasted  that  a  picture 
of  his  own  was  superior  to  **  the  tapestries  just  come 
from  Flanders."  ^  Yet  Sebastiano  was  not  the  only 
friend  to  whose  idle  gossip  the  great  sculptor  indul- 
gently stooped.  Lionardo,  the  saddle-maker,  was 
even  more  offensive.  He  writes,  for  instance,  upon 
New  Yearns  Day,  1 5 1 9,  to  say  that  the  Resurrection 
of  Lazarus,  for  which  Michelangelo  had  contributed 
some  portion  of  the  design,  was  nearly  finished,^  and 
adds  :  "  Those  who  understand  art  rank  it  far  above 
Eaffaello.  The  vault,  too,  of  Agostino  Chigi  has 
been  exposed  to  view,  and  is  a  thing  truly  disgrace- 
ful to  a  great  artist,  far  worse  than  the  last  hall  of 
the  Palace.    Sebastiano  has  nothing  to  fear."  * 

We  gladly  turn  from  these  quarrels  to  what  Sebas- 
tiano teaches  us  about  Michelangelo's  personal  char- 
acter.    The    general   impression  in  the  world  was 
that  he  was  very  difficult  to  live  with.     Julius,  for* 
instance,  after  remarking  that  Raffaello  changed  his 


1  Raffaello  designed  his  famous  Cartoons  for  these  tapestries. 

2  Gotti,  voL  i.  p.  127. 

3  The  vault  is  the  story  of  Cupid  and  Psyche  at  the  Villa  Farnesina, 
executed  by  Raffaello's  pupils.  The  last  hall  of  the  Vatican  is  that 
containing  the  Incendio  del  Borgo. 


i 


MICHELANGELO'S   TERRIBILITA.  347 

style  in  imitation  of  Buonarroti,  continued  :^  '*  *But  he 
is  terrible,  as  you  see ;  one  cannot  get  on  with  him/ 
I  answered  to  his  Holiness  that  your  terribleness 
hurt  nobody,  and  that  you  only  seem  to  be  terrible 
because  of  your  passionate  devotion  to  the  great 
works  you  have  on  hand."  Again,  he  relates  Leo's 
estimate  of  his  friend's  character :  ^  **  I  know  in  what 
esteem  the  Pope  holds  you,  and  when  he  speaks  of 
you,  it  would  seem  that  he  were  talking  about  a 
brother,  almost  with  tears  in  his  eyes ;  for  he  has 
told  me  you  were  brought  up  together  as  boys" 
(Giovanni  de'  Medici  and  the  sculptor  were  exactly 
of  the  same  age),  **  and  shows  that  he  knows  and 
loves  you.  But  you  frighten  everybody,  even 
Popes ! "  Michelangelo  must  have  complained  of 
this  last  remark,  for  Sebastiano,  in  a  letter  dated  a 
few  days  later,  reverts  to  the  subject:^  "Touching 
what  you  reply  to  me  about  your  terribleness,  I,  for 
my  part,  do  not  esteem  you  terrible ;  and  if  I  have 
not  written  on  this  subject,  do  not  be  surprised, 
seeing  you  do  not  strike  me  as  terrible,  except  only 
in  art — that  is  to  say,  in  being  the  greatest  master 
who  ever  lived  :  that  is  my  opinion  ;  if  I  am  in  error, 
the  loss  is  mine."  Later  on,  he  tells  us  what 
Clement  VII.  thought :  *  '*  One  letter  to  your  friend 
(the  Pope)  would  be  enough ;  you  would  soon  see 

1  Gaye,  vol.  ii.  p.  489. 

2  Les  Go?respondants,  op.  cit,  p.  20,  date  October  27,  1520. 

3  Ibid.,  p.  24,  November  g,  1520. 

*  Ibid.,  p.  40,  date  April  29,  1531. 


348  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

what  fruit  it  bore;  because  I  know  how  he  values 
you.  He  loves  you,  knows  your  nature,  adores  your 
work,  and  tastes  its  quality  as  much  as  it  is  possible 
for  man  to  do.  Indeed,  his  appreciation  is  miracu- 
lous, and  such  as  ought  to  give  great  satisfaction  to 
an  artist.  He  speaks  of  you  so  honourably,  and  with 
such  loving  affection,  that  a  father  could  not  say  of  a 
son  what  he  does  of  you.  It  is  true  that  he  has  been 
grieved  at  times  by  buzzings  in  his  ear  about  you  at 
the  time  of  the  siege  of  Florence.  He  shrugged  his 
shoulders  and  cried,  *  Michelangelo  is  in  the  wrong ; 
I  never  did  him  any  injury.' "  It  is  interesting  to 
find  Sebastiano,  in  the  same  letter,  complaining  of 
Michelangelo's  sensitiveness.  **  One  favour  I  would 
request  of  you,  that  is,  that  you  should  come  to 
learn  your  worth,  and  not  stoop  as  you  do  to  every 
little  thing,  and  remember  that  eagles  do  not  prey 
on  flies.  Enough !  I  know  that  you  will  laugh  at 
my  prattle  ;  but  I  do  not  care  ;  Nature  has  made  me 
so,  and  I  am  not  Zuan  da  Eezzo."  * 


VIII. 

The  year  1520  was  one  of  much  importance  for 
Michelangelo.     A  Ricordo  dated  March  10  gives  a 

1  Giovanni  da  Reggio,  the  man  who  went  with  a  letter  of  introduc- 
tion from  Michelangelo  to  the  Count  of  Canossa.  Sebastiano  writes  his 
name  in  Venetian. 


FAgADE  OF  S.  LORENZO  ABANDONED.   349 

brief  account  of  the  last  four  years,  winding  up 
with  the  notice  that^  *'  Pope  Leo,  perhaps  because 
he  wants  to  get  the  facade  at  S.  Lorenzo  finished 
quicker  than  according  to  the  contract  made  with 
me,  and  I  also  consenting  thereto,  sets  me  free  .  .  . 
and  so  he  leaves  me  at  liberty,  under  no  obligation 
of  accounting  to  any  one  for  anything  which  I  have 
had  to  do  with  him  or  others  upon  his  account." 
It  appears  from  the  draft  of  a  letter  without  date 
that  some  altercation  between  Michelangelo  and 
the  Medici  preceded  this  rupture.^  He  had  been 
withdrawn  from  Serravezza  to  Florence  in  order  that 
he  might  plan  the  new  buildings  at  S.  Lorenzo ;  and 
the  workmen  of  the  Opera  del  Duomo  continued  the 
quarrying  business  in  his  absence.  Marbles  which 
he  had  excavated  for  S.  Lorenzo  were  granted  by  the 
Cardinal  de'  Medici  to  the  custodians  of  the  cathedral, 
and  no  attempt  was  made  to  settle  accounts.  Michel- 
I  angelo's  indignation  was  roused  by  this  indifference 
to  his  interests,  and  he  complains  in  terms  of  ex- 
treme bitterness.  Then  he  sums  up  all  that  he  has 
lost,  in  addition  to  expected  profits.  "  I  do  not 
reckon  the  wooden  model  for  the  said  fagade,  which 
I  made  and  sent  to  E-ome ;  I  do  not  reckon  the 
period  of  three  years  wasted  in  this  work ;  I  do 
not  reckon  that  I  have  been  ruined  (in  health  and 
strength  perhaps)  by  the  undertaking ;  I  do  not 
reckon  the  enormous  insult  put  on  me  by  being 
brought  here  to  do  the  work,  and  then  seeing  it 

1  Lettere,  p.  581.         ^  Lettere,  No.  ccclxiiv. 


350  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

taken  away  from  me,  and  for  what  reason  I  have  not 
yet  learned  ;  I  do  not  reckon  my  house  in  Rome, 
which  I  left,  and  where  marbles,  furniture,  and 
blocked-out  statues  have  suffered  to  upwards  of  500 
ducats.  Omitting  all  these  matters,  out  of  the  2300 
ducats  I  received,  only  500  remain  in  my  hands." 

When  he  was  an  old  man,  Michelangelo  told 
Condivi  that  Pope  Leo  changed  his  mind  about  S. 
Lorenzo.  In  the  often-quoted  letter  to  the  prelate 
he  said:^  "Leo,  not  wishing  me  to  work  at  the  tomb 
of  Julius,  pretended  that  he  wanted  to  complete  the 
fagade  of  S.  Lorenzo  at  Florence."  What  was  the 
real  state  of  the  case  can  only  be  conjectured.  It 
does  not  seem  that  the  Pope  took  very  kindly  to  the 
fa9ade  ;  so  the  project  may  merely  have  been  dropped 
through  carelessness.  Michelangelo  neglected  his 
own  interests  by  not  going  to  Rome,  where  his  ene- 
v^  mies  kept  pouring  calumnies  into  the  Pope's  ears. 
The  Marquis  of  Carrara,  as  reported  by  Lionardo, 
wrote  to  Leo  that  "  he  had  sought  to  do  you  honour, 
and  had  done  so  to  his  best  ability.  It  was  your 
fault  if  he  had  not  done  more — the  fault  of  your 
sordidness,  your  quarrelsomeness,  your  eccentric  con- 
duct."^ When,  then,  a  dispute  arose  between  the 
Cardinal  and  the  sculptor  about  the  marbles,  Leo 
may  have  felt  that  it  was  time  to  break  off  from 
an  artist  so  impetuous  and  irritable.  Still,  whatever 
faults  of  temper  Michelangelo  may  have  had,  and 
however  difficult  he  was  to  deal  with,  nothing  can 
*  Lettere,  No.  cdxixv.,  October  1542.  ^  Gotti,  vol.  i,  p.  135. 


DEATH   OF   RAFFAELLO.  351 

excuse  the  Medici  for  their  wanton  waste  of  his 
physical  and  mental  energies  at  the  height  of  their 
development. 

On  the  6th  of  April  1520  Raffaello  died,  worn 
out  with  labour  and  with  love,  in  the  flower  of  his 
wonderful  young  manhood.  It  would  be  rash  to 
assert  that  he  had  already  given  the  world  the  best 
he  had  to  offer,  because  nothing  is  so  incalculable  as 
the  evolution  of  genius.  Still  we  perceive  now  that 
his  latest  manner,  both  as  regards  style  and  feeling, 
and  also  as  regards  the  method  of  execution  by 
assistants,  shows  him  to  have  been  upon  the  verge 
of  intellectual  decline.  While  deploring  Michel- 
angelo's impracticability — that  solitary,  self-reliant, 
and  exacting  temperament  which  made  him  reject 
collaboration,  and  which  doomed  so  much  of  his  best 
work  to  incompleteness — we  must  remember  that  to 
the  very  end  of  his  long  life  he  produced  nothing 
(except  perhaps  in  architecture)  which  does  not 
bear  the  seal  and  superscription  of  his  fervent  self. 
Raffaello,  on  the  contrary,  just  before  his  death, 
seemed  to  be  exhaling  into  a  nebulous  mist  of  bril- 
liant but  unsatisfactory  performances.  Diflfusing 
the  rich  and  facile  treasures  of  his  genius  through 
a  host  of  lesser  men,  he  had  almost  ceased  to  be  a 
personality.  Even  his  own  work,  as  proved  by  the 
Transfiguration,  was  deteriorating.  The  blossom 
was  overblown,  the  bubble  on  the  point  of  bursting ; 
and  all  those  pupils  who  had  gathered  round  him, 
drawing  like  planets  from  the  sun  their  lustre,  sank 


352  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

at  his  death  into  frigidity  and  insignificance.  Only 
Giulio  Eomano  burned  with  a  torrid  sensual  splen- 
dour all  his  own.  Fortunately  for  the  history  of  the 
Renaissance,  Giulio  lived  to  evoke  the  wonder  of 
the  Mantuan  villa,  that  climax  of  associated  crafts  of 
decoration,  which  remains  for  us  the  symbol  of  the 
dream  of  art  indulged  by  Raffaello  in  his  Roman 
period. 

These  pupils  of  the  Urbinate  claimed  now,  on 
their  master's  death,  and  claimed  with  good  reason, 
the  right  to  carry  on  his  great  work  in  the  Borgian 
apartments  of  the  Vatican.  The  Sala  de'  Pontefici, 
or  the  Hall  of  Constantine,  as  it  is  sometimes  called, 
remained  to  be  painted.  They  possessed  designs 
bequeathed  by  Raffaello  for  its  decoration,  and  Leo, 
very  rightly,  decided  to  leave  it  in  their  hands. 
Sebastiano  del  Piombo,  however,  made  a  vigorous 
effort  to  obtain  the  work  for  himself.  His  Raising 
of  Lazarus,  executed  in  avowed  competition  with 
the  Transfiguration,  had  brought  him  into  the  first 
rank  of  Roman  painters.  It  was  seen  what  the 
man,  with  Michelangelo  to  back  him  up,  could  do. 
We  cannot  properly  appreciate  this  picture  in  its 
present  state.  The  glory  of  the  colouring  has 
passed  away ;  and  it  was  precisely  here  that  Sebas- 
tiano may  have  surpassed  Raffaello,  as  he  was 
certainly  superior  to  the  school.  Sebastiano  wrote 
letter  after  letter  to  Michelangelo  in  Florence.^     He 

1  Les  CorrespondantSj  op,  aV.,  p.  6,  April  20,  1520.  It  appears  from  the 
general  tenour  of  the  letters  I  shall  quote  that  Sebastiano  would  have 


FRESCOES   IN   THE   HALL  OF   CONSTANTINE.    353 

first  mentions  Raffaello's  death,  **  whom  may  God 
forgive;"  then  says  that  the  '' garzoni"  of  the 
Urbinate  are  beginning  to  paint  in  oil  upon  the 
walls  of  the  Sala  dei  Pontefici.^  *'  I  pray  you  to 
remember  me,  and  to  recommend  me  to  the  Cardinal, 
and  if  I  am  the  man  to  undertake  the  job,  I  should 
like  you  to  set  me  to  work  at  it ;  for  I  shall  not  dis- 
grace you,  as  indeed  I  think  I  have  not  done  already, 
took  my  picture  (the  Lazarus)  once  more  to  the 
Vatican,  and  placed  it  beside  Raflfaello's  (the  Trans- 
figuration), and  I  came  without  shame  out  of  the 
comparison."  In  answer,  apparently,  to  this  first 
letter  on  the  subject,  Michelangelo  wrote  a  humo- 
rous recommendation  of  his  friend  and  gossip  to 
the  Cardinal  Bernardo  Dovizi  da  Bibbiena.  It  runs 
thus :  *  "  I  beg  your  most  reverend  Lordship,  not 
as  a  friend  or  servant,  for  I  am  not  worthy  to  be 
either,  but  as  a  low  fellow,  poor  and  brainless,  that 
you  will  cause  Sebastian,  the  Venetian  painter,  now 
■that  Rafael  is  dead,  to  have  some  share  in  the 
works  at  the  Palace.  If  it  should  seem  to  your 
Lordship  that  kind  offices  are  thrown  away  upon 
I  man  like  me,  I  might  suggest  that  on  some  rare 
Dccasions  a  certain  sweetness  may  be  found  in  being 
iind  even  to  fools,  as  onions  taste  well,  for  a  change 

iked  Miclielangelo  to  obtain  the  commission  for  the  Sala  on  his  own 
,ccount,  and  to  intrust  himself  (Sebastiano)  with  the  execution. 

1  There  are  two  female  figures  painted  in  oil  there,  Comitas  and 
^ustitia.  The  effect  is  charming,  making  one  dissatisfied  with  the 
halky  dryness  of  the  frescot 

2  Lettere,  No.  ccclxxiii. 

VOL.  I. 


I 


354  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

of  food,  to  one  who  is  tired  of  capons.  You  oblige 
men  of  mark  every  day.  I  beg  your  Lordship  to 
try  what  obliging  me  is  like.  The  obligation  will 
be  a  very  great  one,  and  Sebastian  is  a  worthy  man. 
If,  then,  your  kind  offers  are  thrown  away  on  me, 
they  will  not  be  so  on  Sebastian,  for  I  am  certain  he 
will  prove  a  credit  to  your  Lordship." 

In  his  following  missives  Sebastiano  flatters 
Michelangelo  upon  the  excellent  effect  produced  by 
the  letter.^  **  The  Cardinal  informed  me  that  the 
Pope  had  given  the  Hall  of  the  Pontiffs  to 
Raffaello's  'prentices,  and  they  have  begun  with  a 
figure  in  oils  upon  the  wall,  a  marvellous  produc- 
tion, which  eclipses  all  the  rooms  painted  by  their 
master,  and  proves  that,  when  it  is  finished,  this 
hall  will  beat  the  record,  and  be  the  finest  thing 
done  in  painting  since  the  ancients.^  Then  he  asked 
if  I  had  read  your  letter.  I  said.  No.  He  laughed 
loudly,  as  though  at  a  good  joke,  and  I  quitted 
him  with  compliments.  Bandinelli,  who  is  copying 
the  Laocoon,  tells  me  that  the  Cardinal  showed  him 
your  letter,  and  also  showed  it  to  the  Pope ;  in  fact, 
nothing  is  talked  about  at  the  Vatican  except  your 
letter,  and  it  makes  everybody  laugh."  He  adds  that 
he  does  not  think  the  hall  ought  to  be  committed  to 
young  men.  Having  discovered  what  sort  of  things 
they  meant  to  paint  there,  battle-pieces  and  vast 

1  Les  Correspondants,  pp.  6-16. 

2  The  figure  is  a  Caryatid,  at  the  extreme  end  of  the  stanze.     Fresco 
was  afterwards  adopted  by  Giulio  Romano  and  II  Fattore. 


SEBASTIANO   DEL   PIOMBO   INTRIGUES.       355 

compositions,  he  judges  the  scheme  beyond  their 
scope.  Michelangelo  alone  is  equal  to  the  task. 
Meanwhile,  Leo,  wishing  to  compromise  matters, 
offered  Sebastiano  the  great  hall  in  the  lower 
apartments  of  the  Borgias,  where  Alexander  VI. 
used  to  live,  and  where  Pinturicchio  painted — 
rooms  shut  up  in  pious  horror  by  Julius  when 
I  he  came  to  occupy  the  palace  of  his  hated  and 
abominable  predecessor.^  Sebastiano's  reliance  upon 
Michelangelo,  and  his  calculation  that  the  way  to 
get  possession  of  the  coveted  commission  would 
depend  on  the  latter' s  consenting  to  supply  him 
with  designs,  emerge  in  the  following  passage : 
"  The  Cardinal  told  me  that  he  was  ordered  by 
the  Pope  to  offer  me  the  lower  hall.  I  replied  that 
I  could  accept  nothing  without  your  permission,  or 
until  your  answer  came,  which  is  not  to  hand  at 
the  date  of  writing.  I  added  that,  unless  I  were 
engaged  to  Michelangelo,  even  if  the  Pope  com- 
manded me  to  paint  that  hall,  I  would  not  do  so, 
because  I  do  not  think  myself  inferior  to  Raffaello's 
'prentices,  especially  after  the  Pope,  with  his  own 
mouth,  had  offered  me  half  of  the  upper  hall ;  and 
anyhow,  I  do  not  regard  it  as  creditable  to  myself 

^  See  Yriarte,  Autour  des  Borgias,  for  an  account  of  these  apart- 
ments, with  plans  and  illustrations.  Cesare  Borgia  inhabited  the  upper 
set  of  rooms.  The  lower  hall  was  severely  damaged  on  June  20,  1 500, 
when  lightning  struck  the  Vatican,  and  nearly  killed  Pope  Alexander, 
who  was  throned  upon  the  dais.  The  roof  and  great  chimney  crashed 
in.  Since  that  accident  it  remained  unrepaired.  The  decoration  was 
eventually  assigned  to  Peri  no  del  Vaga. 


356  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

to  paint  the  cellars,  and  they  to  have  the  gilded 
chambers.  I  said  they  had  better  be  allowed  to  go 
on  painting.  He  answered  that  the  Pope  had  only 
done  this  to  avoid  rivalries.  The  men  possessed 
designs  ready  for  that  hall,  and  I  ought  to  remember 
that  the  lower  one  was  also  a  hall  of  the  Pontiffs. 
My  reply  was  that  I  would  have  nothing  to  do  with 
it ;  so  that  now  they  are  laughing  at  me,  and  I  am 
so  worried  that  I  am  well-nigh  mad."  Later  on  he 
adds :  *'  It  has  been  my  object,  through  you  and 
your  authority,  to  execute  vengeance  for  myself 
and  you  too,  letting  malignant  fellows  know  that 
there  are  other  demigods  alive  beside  E-affael  da 
Urbino  and  his  'prentices."  The  vacillation  of  Leo 
in  this  business,  and  his  desire  to  make  things  a 
pleasant,  are  characteristic  of  the  man,  who  acted  i 
just  in  the  same  way  while  negotiating  with  princes.    ^ 


IX.  i  I 

When  Michelangelo  complained  that  he  was 
"rovinato  per  detta  opera  di  San  Lorenzo,"  he  pro- 
bably did  not  mean  that  he  was  ruined  in  purse, 
but  in  health  and  energy.^  For  some  while  after 
Leo  gave  him  his  liberty,  he  seems  to  have  remained 
comparatively  inactive.  During  this  period  the  sac- 
risty at  S.  Lorenzo  and  the  Medicean  tombs  were 

^  Lett  ere,  ccclxxiv.  p.  416. 


SACRISTY  OF  S.   LORENZO.  357 

probably  in  contemplation.^  Giovanni  Cambi  says 
that  they  were  begun  at  the  end  of  March  1520.^ 
But  we  first  hear  something  definite  about  them  in 
a  Ricordo  which  extends  from  April  9  to  August 
19,  1521/  Michelangelo  says  that  on  the  former 
of  these  dates  he  received  money  from  the  Cardinal 
de'  Medici  for  a  journey  to  Carrara,  whither  he  went 
and  stayed  about  three  weeks,  ordering  marbles  for 
"  the  tombs  which  are  to  be  placed  in  the  new  sacristy 
at  S.  Lorenzo.  And  there  I  made  out  drawings  to 
scale,  and  measured  models  in  clay  for  the  said 
tombs."  He  left  his  assistant  Scipione  of  Settig- 
nano  at  Carrara  as  overseer  of  the  work,  and  returned 
to  Florence.  On  the  20th  of  July  following  he  went 
again  to  Carrara,  and  stayed  nine  days.  On  the 
1 6th  of  August  the  contractors  for  the  blocks,  all  of 
which  were  excavated  from  the  old  Roman  quarry 
of  Polvaccio,  came  to  Florence,  and  were  paid  for  on 
account.  Scipione  returned  on  the  19th  of  August. 
lit  may  be  added  that  the  name  of  Stefano,  the 
miniaturist,  who  acted  as  Michelangelo's  factotum 

1  An  obscure  phrase  in  the  document  quoted  above  (No.  ccclxxiv.)  has 
been  taken  to  indicate  that  the  project  had  been  conceived  as  early  as 
the  spring  of  15 19.  "At  that  same  time  the  Cardinal,  by  orders  from 
the  Pope,  removed  me  from  my  work  of  quarrying,  because  they  said 
:tbey  did  not  wish  me  to  be  bothered  with  excavating  marbles,  and  they 
would  have  them  forwarded  to  me  in  Florence,  and  made  a  new  con- 
vention.^^ The  new  convention,  however,  may  have  been  a  new  arrange- 
ment as  to  the  manner  of  carrying  on  and  paying  the  facade. 

2  Vasari,  xii,  358.  If  Cambi  reckoned  in  Florentine  style,  his  refer- 
ence would  be  to  March  1521,  which  agrees  with  the  Ricordo  to  be  quoted 
aext  above. 

3  Lettere,  p.  582. 


358  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

through  several  years,  is  mentioned  for  the  first  time 
in  this  minute  and  interesting  record. 

That  the  commission  for  the  sacristy  came  from 
the  Cardinal  Giulio,  and  not  from  the  Pope,  appears 
in  the  document  I  have  just  cited.  The  fact  is  con- 
firmed by  a  letter  written  to  Fattucci  in  1523:^ 
''About  two  years  have  elapsed  since  I  returned 
from  Carrara,  whither  I  had  gone  to  purchase  marbles 
for  the  tombs  of  the  Cardinal."  The  letter  is  curious 
in  several  respects,  because  it  shows  how  changeable 
through  many  months  Giulio  remained  about  the 
scheme ;  at  one  time  bidding  Michelangelo  prepare 
plans  and  models,  at  another  refusing  to  listen  to 
any  proposals ;  then  warming  up  again,  and  saying 
that,  if  he  lived  long  enough,  he  meant  to  erect  the 
fa9ade  as  well.  The  final  issue  of  the  afiair  was,  that 
after  Giulio  became  Pope  Clement  VII.,  the  sacristy 
went  forward,  and  Michelangelo  had  to  put  the 
sepulchre  of  Julius  aside.  During  the  pontificate 
of  Adrian,  we  must  believe  that  he  worked  upon 
his  statues  for  that  monument,  since  a  Cardinal 
was  hardly  powerful  enough  to  command  his  ser- 
vices ;  but  when  the  Cardinal  became  Pope,  and 
threatened  to  bring  an  action  against  him  for  moneys 
received,  the  case  was  altered.  The  letter  to  Fat- 
tucci, when  carefully  studied,  leads  to  these  con- 
clusions. 

Very  little  is  known  to  us  regarding  his  private 
life  in  the  year  1521.     We  only  possess  one  letter, 

1  Letteie,  No.  ccclxxix. 


I 


THE   CRISTO   RISORTO.  359 

relating  to  the  purchase  of  a  house. ^  In  October  he 
stood  godfather  to  the  infant  son  of  Niccolb  Soderini, 
nephew  of  his  old  patron,  the  Gonfalonier.^ 

This  barren  period  is  marked  by  only  one  con- 
siderable event  —  that  is,  the  termination  of  the 
Cristo  Kisorto,  or  Christ  Triumphant,  which  had  been 
ordered  by  Metello  Varj  dei  Porcari  in  15 14.  The 
statue  seems  to  have  been  rough -hewn  at  the  quarries, 
packed  up,  and  sent  to  Pisa  on  its  way  to  Florence 
as  early  as  December  1518,^  but  it  was  not  until 
March  1521  that  Michelangelo  began  to  occupy 
himself  about  it  seriously.  He  then  despatched 
Pietro  Urbano  to  Rome  with  orders  to  complete  it 
there,*  and  to  arrange  with  the  purchaser  for  placing 

1  Lettere,  No.  ccclxxv.,  addressed  to  Giusto  di  Matteo  in  Pisa.  The 
house  was  in  Via  Mozza.  Pietro  Urbano  refers  to  the  transaction  in  a 
letter  written  from  Rome,  which  proves  that  he  was  then  at  work  on  the 
Cristo  Risorto.    The  month  was  March, 

*  Gotti,  vol.  i.  p.  145. 
3  See  Lettere,  No.  cclxix.,  addressed  to  Lionardo,  the   saddler,  in 

Rome.  Milanesi  gives  the  date,  December  21,  15 18.  It  shows  that 
Michelangelo  was  then  waiting  for  the  marble,  and  hoping  to  begin  work 
upon  it. 

*  This  appears  from  one  of  Michelangelo's  letters,  Lettere,  No.  ccclxxv. 
Gotti  (vol.  i.  p.  140)  says  that  the  month  was  August,  but  gives  no  reason. 
Since  Sebastiano  began  to  write  about  Urbano's  doings  on  the  6th  of 
September,  the  young  man  must  already  have  been  some  time  in 
Rome.  We  possess  a  Ricordo  by  Michelangelo  {Carte  Michelangiolesche, 
No.  2)  which  proves  that  on  the  2nd  of  May  1521  Michelangelo  paid 
Lionardo  in  Rome  four  ducats  on  account  of  Pietro  ;  also  a  letter  from 
Pietro  to  Michelangelo,  without  date,  written  from  Rome.  In  it  Pietro 
says  he  has  heard  that  his  master  had  been  to  Carrara,  and  is  about  to 
buy  the  house  "  della  Masina."  Now  Michelangelo  went  to  Carrara  in 
April,  and  in  March  he  wrote  a  letter  about  this  house  (No.  ccclxxv.). 
Pietro  informs  him  that  the  statue  has  not  yet  arrived,  but  he  hopes  for 
it  about  the  19th.     He  also  promises  to  avoid  the  company  of  dissolute 


36o  LIFE   OF  MICHELANGELO. 

it  upon  a  pedestal.  Sebastiano's  letters  contain  some 
references  to  this  work,  which  enable  us  to  under- 
stand how  wrong  it  would  be  to  accept  it  as  a  repre- 
sentative piece  of  Buonari'oti's  own  handicraft.  On 
the  9th  of  November  1520  he  writes  that  his  gossip, 
Giovanni  da  Keggio,  "  goes  about  saying  that  you 
did  not  execute  the  figure,  but  that  it  is  the  work  of 
Pietro  Urbano.  Take  good  care  that  it  should  be  seen 
to  be  from  your  hand,  so  that  poltroons  and  babblers 
may  burst."  ^  On  the  6th  of  September  1521  he  re- 
turns to  the  subject.^  Urbano  was  at  this  time  resident 
in  Rome,  and  behaving  himself  so  badly,  in  Sebas- 
tiano's opinion,  that  he  feels  bound  to  make  a  severe 
report.  "  In  the  first  place,  you  sent  him  to  Eome 
with  the  statue  to  finish  and  erect  it.  What  he 
did  and  left  undone  you  know  already.  But  I  must 
inform  you  that  he  has  spoiled  the  marble  wherever 
he  touched  it.  In  particular,  he  shortened  the  right 
foot  and  cut  the  toes  ofi";  the  hands  too,  especially 
the  right  hand,  which  holds  the  cross,  have  been 
mutilated  in  the  fingers.  Frizzi  says  they  seem  to 
have  been  worked  by  a  biscuit-maker,  not  wrought 
in  marble,  but  kneaded  by  some  one  used  to 
dough.     I  am  no  judge,   not  being    familiar  with 

Florentines  more  than  he  had  previously  done.  This  throws  light  on 
what  followed.  Florentine  society  in  Kome  was  notorious  for  vicious 
conduct.  His  letter  must  have  been  written  early  in  April.  It  is  pub- 
lished by  Daelli,  Carte  Michelangiolesche  Inedite,  No.  7. 

1  Les  CorrespondantSf  p.  24.    Urbano  was  then  at  Florence,  working  on 
the  statue  under  Michelangelo's  directions. 

2  Ibid.,  p.  28. 


I 


*IWiiiiihflllrfl[lB^  ^  I" 


The  Risen  Christ. 


PIETRO   URBANO   IN   ROME.  361 

the  method  of  stone-cutting ;  but  I  can  tell  you 
that  the  fingers  look  to  me  very  stiif  and  dumpy.^ 
It  is  clear  also  that  he  has  been  peddling  at  the 
beard ;  and  I  believe  my  little  boy  would  have  done  so 
with  more  sense,  for  it  looks  as  though  he  had  used 
a  knife  without  a  point  to  chisel  the  hair.  This  can 
easily  be  remedied,  however.  He  has  also  spoiled 
one  of  the  nostrils.  A  little  more,  and  the  whole 
nose  would  have  been  ruined,  and  only  God  could 
have  restored  it."  Michelangelo  apparently  had 
already  taken  measures  to  transfer  the  Christ  from 
Urbano's  hands  to  those  of  the  sculptor  Federigo 
Frizzi.  This  irritated  his  former  friend  and  work- 
man. **  Pietro  shows  a  very  ugly  and  malignant 
spirit  after  finding  himself  cast  off  by  you.  He 
does  not  seem  to  care  for  you  or  any  one  alive,  but 
thinks  he  is  a  great  master.  He  will  soon  find  out 
his  mistake,  for  the  poor  young  man  will  never  be 
able  to  make  statues.  He  has  forgotten  all  he  knew 
of  art,  and  the  knees  of  your  Christ  are  worth  more 
than  all  Eome  together."  It  was  Sebastiano's  wont 
to  run  babbling  on  in  this  way.  Once  again  he 
returns  to  Pietro  Urbano.  '*  I  am  informed  that  he 
has  left  Rome ;  he  has  not  been  seen  for  several 
days,  has  shunned  the  Court,  and  I  certainly  believe 
that  he  will  come  to  a  bad  end.  He  gambles,  wants 
all  the  women  of  the  town,  struts  like  a  Ganymede 
in  velvet  shoes  through  Eome,  and  flings  his  cash 

1  There  is  no  sign  of  this  in  the  statue.    A  little  stiff,  perhaps,  but 
not  cut  down  in  length. 


362  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

about.  Poor  fellow  !  I  am  sorry  for  him,  since,  after 
all,  he  is  but  young." 

Such  was  the  end  of  Pietro  Urbano.  Michelangelo 
was  certainly  unfortunate  with  his  apprentices.  One 
cannot  help  fancying  he  may  have  spoiled  them  by 
indulgence.  Vasari,  mentioning  Pietro,  calls  him 
''a  person  of  talent,  but  one  who  never  took  the 
pains  to  work."  ^ 

Frizzi  brought  the  Christ  Triumphant  into  its 
present  state,  patching  up  what  "the  lither  lad" 
from  Pistoja  had  boggled.^  Buonarroti,  who  was 
sincerely  attached  to  Varj,  and  felt  his  artistic 
reputation  now  at  stake,  offered  to  make  a  new 
statue.  But  the  magnanimous  Eoman  gentleman 
replied  that  he  was  entirely  satisfied  with  the  one 
he  had  received.  He  regarded  and  esteemed  it  **  as 
a  thing  of  gold,"  and,  in  refusing  Michelangelo's 
offer,  added  that  "this  proved  his  noble  soul  and 
generosity,  inasmuch  as,  when  he  had  already  made 
what  could  not  be  surpassed  and  was  incomparable, 
he  still  wanted  to  serve  his  friend  better."^  The 
price  originally  stipulated  was  paid,  and  Varj  added 
an  autograph  testimonial,  strongly  affirming  his  con- 
tentment with  the  whole  transaction. 

These  details  prove  that  the  Christ  of  the  Minerva 
must  be  regarded  as  a  mutilated  masterpiece.  Michel- 

i 

1  Vol.  xii.  p.  274.  ■ 

2  Hardly  anything  is  known  about  this  sculptor.     See  above,  p.  344, 
for  a  mention  of  his  name. 

3  Gotti,  i.  143.      There  are  twenty- three  letters  from  Varj,  chiefly 
about  these  affairs,  in  the  Arch.  Buon.,  Cod.  xi.,Nos.  740-761. 


THE   CHRIST   OF   THE   MINERVA.  363 

angelo  is  certainly  responsible  for  the  general  con- 
ception, the  pose,  and  a  large  portion  of  the  finished 
surface,  details  of  which,  especially  in  the  knees, 
so  much  admired  by  Sebastiano,  and  in  the  robust 
arms,  are  magnificent.  He  designed  the  figure 
wholly  nude,  so  that  the  heavy  bronze  drapery 
which  now  surrounds  the  loins,  and  bulges  drooping 
from  the  left  hip,  breaks  the  intended  harmony  of 
lines.  Yet,  could  this  brawny  man  have  ever  sug- 
gested any  distinctly  religious  idea  ?  ^  Christ,  victor 
over  Death  and  Hell,  did  not  triumph  by  ponderosity 
and  sinews.  The  spiritual  nature  of  his  conquest, 
the  ideality  of  a  divine  soul  disencumbered  from 
the  flesh,  to  which  it  once  had  stooped  in  love  for 
sinful  man,  ought  certainly  to  have  been  empha- 
sised, if  anywhere  through  art,  in  the  statue  of  a 
Risen  Christ.  Substitute  a  scaling-ladder  for  the 
cross,  and  here  we  have  a  fine  life- guardsman, 
stripped  and  posing  for  some  classic  battle-piece. 
We  cannot  quarrel  with  Michelangelo  about  the 
face  and  head.  Those  vulgarly  handsome  features, 
that  beard,  pomaded  and  curled  by  a  barber's 
'prentice,  betray  no  signs  of  his  inspiration.  Only 
in  the  arrangement  of  the  hair,  hyacinthine  locks 
descending  to  the  shoulders,  do  we  recognise  the 
touch  of  the  divine  sculptor. 

The  Christ  became  very  famous.     Francis  I.  had 

1  Heatli  Wilson  says  :  "  This  statue,  considered  as  a  work  of  expres- 
sion and  religious  art,  is  in  both  respects  without  a  parallel  in  its 
irreverence  "  (p.  266). 


364  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

it  cast  and  sent  to  Paris,  to  be  repeated  in  bronze. 
What  is  more  strange,  it  has  long  been  the  object 
of  a  religious  cult.  The  right  foot,  so  mangled 
by  poor  Pietro,  wears  a  fine  brass  shoe,  in  order  to 
prevent  its  being  kissed  away.  This  almost  makes 
one  think  of  Goethe's  hexameter:  *' Wunderthatige 
Bilder  sind  meist  nur  schlechte  Gemalde."  Still 
it  must  be  remembered  that  excellent  critics  have 
found  the  whole  work  admirable.  Gsell-Fels  says :  ^ 
**  It  is  his  second  Moses  ;  in  movement  and  physique 
one  of  the  greatest  masterpieces ;  as  a  Christ-ideal, 
the  heroic  conception  of  a  humanist."  That  last 
observation  is  just.  We  may  remember  that  Vida 
was  composing  his  CJiristiad  while  Frizzi  was  curl- 
ing the  beard  of  the  Cristo  Risorto.  Vida  always 
speaks  of  Jesus  as  Heros,  and  of  God  the  Father  as 
Superum  Pater  Nimbipotens  or  Regnator  Olympi,^ 


li 


^  Rom  und  Mittel-Italien,  vol.  ii.  p.  370.  Burckhardt  {Cicerone, 
Sculptur,  Leipzig,  Seeman,  1869,  p.  672)  says  :  "It  is  one  of  his  most 
amiable  works.  The  upper  part  of  the  body  is  one  of  the  fines 
motives  of  later  modern  art.  The  sweet  expression  and  formation  of 
the  face  may  be  as  little  suitable  to  the  Highest  as  any  Christ  is  ;  and 
3'^et,"  &c.  Even  Heath  Wilson,  who  had  a  proper  sense  of  the  impro- 
priety, artistic  and  religious,  of  this  Christ,  remarks  that  "  the  hair  of 
the  beard,  which  must  be  assumed  to  be  Frizzi's  work,  does  him  great  , 
credit."  This  beard  consists  of  patches,  like  tigers'  claws  or  foliage,  | 
carved  out  to  hide  anatomical  structure.  None  of  the  favourable  critics 
notice  the  indecent  and  unnatural  bulk  of  the  abdomen. 

^  See  my  Renaissance  in  Italy^  vol.  ii.  p.  399.  1  ought  to  add  that, 
since  I  wrote  the  above  critique,  working  mainly  by  the  help  of  Alinari's 
photographs,  I  have  studied  the  statue  again  in  the  church  of  the 
Minerva.  Under  that  dim  light,  it  diffuses  a  grace  and  sweetness  which 
no  reproduction  renders.  Without  retracting  my  opinion,  I  recognise  a 
kind  of  fascination  in  the  figure. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

I.  Death  of  Leo  X.,  December  i,  1521. — Estimate  of  his  character. — 
Election  of  Adrian  VI. — Disgust  in  Rome. — Giulio  dei  Medici  made 
Pope  upon  his  death  in  September  1523. — 2.  Scanty  details  regard- 
ing Michelangelo's  life  during  the  pontificate  of  Adrian. — Various 
minor  commissions  from  Bologna,  Cardinal  Griniani,  Genoa. — An 
irritable  letter  to  Lodovico.  —  3.  Clement  VII.  pushes  on  the 
Sacristy,  and  projects  the  Library  of  S.  Lorenzo. — Michelangelo's 
dislike  to  be  employed  on  architectural  work. — Arrangements  for 
a  pension  from  the  Pope. — Stefano  Miniatore. — The  Sacristy  roofed 
in  before  May  1524. — Troubles  with  the  heirs  of  Julius. — Michel- 
angelo's wretchedness  about  the  tomb. — 4.  History  of  successive 
schemes  for  the  decoration  of  the  Sacristy. — The  number  of  portrait- 
statues  originally  contemplated. — Eventual  adoption  of  a  mural 
plan. — Light  thrown  upon  the  matter  by  original  drawings. — 5.  The 
Duke  of  Urbino  begins  a  lawsuit  against  Michelangelo  for  non- 
performance of  contract. — Michelangelo  appeals  to  Clement  for 
assistance  in  these  difficulties. — Negotiations. — Work  upon  the 
statues  for  S.  Lorenzo  goes  forward. — He  falls  seriously  ill. — 6. 
Sebastiano's  portrait  of  Anton  Francesco  degli  Albizzi. — Clement 
urges  on  the  Library. — Michelangelo  employs  collaborators. — The 
sack  of  Rome  and  the  siege  of  Florence  (15 27-1 530)  suspend 
active  operations. — A  ciborium  for  S.  Lorenzo. — Michelangelo's 
letter  upon  a  project  for  erecting  a  Colossus. 

I. 

Leo  X.  expired  upon  the  ist  day  of  December 
152 1.  The  vacillating  game  he  played  in  European 
politics  had  just  been  crowned  with  momentary  suc- 
cess. Some  folk  believed  that  the  Pope  died  of  joy 
after  hearing  that  his  Imperial  allies  had   entered 

the  town  of  Milan ;  others  thought  that  he  succumbed 

365 


366  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

to  poison.  We  do  not  know  what  caused  his  death. 
But  the  unsoundness  of  his  constitution,  overtaxed 
by  dissipation  and  generous  living,  in  the  midst  of 
public  cares  for  which  the  man  had  hardly  nerve 
enough,  may  suffice  to  account  for  a  decease  cer- 
tainly sudden  and  premature.  Michelangelo,  born 
in  the  same  year,  was  destined  to  survive  him 
through  more  than  eight  lustres  of  the  life  of  man. 

Leo  was  a  personality  whom  it  is  impossible  to 
praise  without  reserve.  The  Pope  at  that  time  in 
Italy  had  to  perform  three  separate  functions.  His 
first  duty  was  to  the  Church.  Leo  left  the  See  of 
Rome  worse  off  than  he  found  it:  financially  bankrupt, 
compromised  by  vague  schemes  set  on  foot  for  the 
aggrandisement  of  his  family,  discredited  by  many 
shameless  means  for  raising  money  upon  spiritual 
securities.  His  second  duty  was  to  Italy.  Leo  left 
the  peninsula  so  involved  in  a  mesh  of  meaningless 
entanglements,  diplomatic  and  aimless  wars,  that 
anarchy  and  violence  proved  to  be  the  only  exit  from 
the  situation.  His  third  duty  was  to  that  higher  cul- 
ture which  Italy  dispensed  to  Europe,  and  of  which 
the  Papacy  had  made  itself  the  leading  propagator. 
Here  Leo  failed  almost  as  conspicuously  as  in  all 
else  he  attempted.  He  debased  the  standard  of  art 
and  literature  by  his  ill-placed  liberalities,  seeking  j 
quick  returns  for  careless  expenditure,  not  selecting 
the  finest  spirits  of  his  age  for  timely  patronage, 
diffusing  no  lofty  enthusiasm,  but  breeding  round 
him  mushrooms  of  mediocrity. 


POPE   ADRIAN   VI.  367 

Nothing  casts  stronger  light  upon  the  low  tone  of 
Roman  society  created  by  Leo  than  the  outburst  of 
frenzy  and  execration  which  exploded  when  a  Fleming 
was  elected  as  his  successor.  Adrian  Florent,  belong- 
ing to  a  family  surnamed  Dedel,  emerged  from  the 
scrutiny  of  the  Conclave  into  the  pontifical  chair. 
He  had  been  the  tutor  of  Charles  V.,  and  this  may 
suffice  to  account  for  his  nomination.  Cynical  wits 
ascribed  that  circumstance  to  the  direct  and  un- 
expected action  of  the  Holy  Ghost.  He  was  the 
one  foreigner  who  occupied  the  seat  of  S.  Peter 
after  the  period  when  the  metropolis  of  Western 
Christendom  became  an  Italian  principality.  Adrian, 
by  his  virtues  and  his  failings,  proved  that  modern 
Kome,  in  her  social  corruption  and  religious  in- 
diff"erence,  demanded  an  Italian  Pontiff.  Single- 
minded  and  simple,  raised  unexpectedly  by  cir- 
cumstances into  his  supreme  position,  he  shut 
his  eyes  resolutely  to  art  and  culture,  abandoned 
diplomacy,  and  determined  to  act  only  as  the 
chief  of  the  Catholic  Church.  In  ecclesiastical 
matters  Adrian  was  undoubtedly  a  worthy  man. 
He  returned  to  the  original  conception  of  his  duty 
as  the  Primate  of  Occidental  Christendom  ;  and  what 
might  have  happened  had  he  lived  to  impress  his 
pirit  upon  Rome,  remains  beyond  the  reach  of  cal- 
culation. Dare  we  conjecture  that  the  sack  of  1527 
would  have  been  averted  ? 

Adrian   reigned  only  a  year  and  eight  months. 
He  had  no  time  to  do  anything  of  permanent  value, 


368  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

4 

and  was  hardly  powerful  enough  to  do  it,  even  if 
time  and  opportunity  had  been  aflfbrded.  In  the 
thunderstorm  gathering  over  Rome  and  the  Papacy, 
he  represents  that  momentary  lull  during  which 
men  hold  their  breath  and  murmur.  All  the  place- 
seekers,  parasites,  flatterers,  second-rate  artificers, 
folk  of  facile  talents,  whom  Leo  gathered  round 
him,  vented  their  rage  against  a  Pope  who  lived 
sparely,  shut  up  the  Belvedere,  called  statues  "idols 
of  the  Pagans,"  and  spent  no  farthing  upon 
twangling  lutes  and  frescoed  chambers.  Truly 
Adrian  is  one  of  the  most  grotesque  and  significant 
figures  upon  the  page  of  modern  history.  His  per- 
sonal worth,  his  inadequacy  to  the  needs  of  the  age, 
and  his  incompetence  to  control  the  tempest  loosed 
by  Delia  Eoveres,  Borgias,  and  Medici  around  him, 
give  the  man  a  tragic  irony. 

After  his  death,  upon  the  23rd  of  September  1523, 
the  Cardinal  Giulio  dei  Medici  was  made  Pope.  He 
assumed  the  title  of  Clement  VII.  upon  the  9th  of 
November.  The  wits  who  saluted  Adrian's  doctor 
with  the  title  of  "  Saviour  of  the  Fatherland,"  now 
rejoiced  at  the  election  of  an  Italian  and  a  Medici. 
The  golden  years  of  Leo's  reign  would  certainly 
return,  they  thought;  having  no  foreknowledge  of 
the  tragedy  which  was  so  soon  to  be  enacted,  first  at 
Rome,  and  afterwards  at  Florence.  Michelangelo 
wrote  to  his  friend  Topolino  at  Carrara  :^  "  You  will 
have  heard  that  Medici  is  made  Pope  ;  all  the  world 

1  Lettere,  No.  ccclxxx. 


VARIOUS   COMMISSIONS.  369 

seems  to  me  to  be  delighted,  and  I  think  that  here 
at  Florence  great  things  will  soon  be  set  on  foot 
n  our  art.     Therefore,  serve  well  and  faithfully." 


II. 

Our  records  are  very  scanty,  both  as  regards 
ersonal  details  and  art-work,  for  the  life  of  Michel- 
mgelo  during  the  pontificate  of  Adrian  VI.  The 
ligh  esteem  in  which  he  was  held  throughout  Italy 
s  proved  by  three  incidents  which  may  shortly 
De  related.  In  1522,  the  Board  of  Works  for  the 
athedral  church  of  S.  Petronio  at  Bologna  de- 
dded  to  complete  the  fa§ade.  Various  architects 
ent  in  designs ;  among  them  Peruzzi  competed  with 
ne  in  the  Gothic  style,  and  another  in  that  of  the 

lassical  revival.  Great  differences  of  opinion  arose 
n  the  city  as  to  the  merits  of  the  rival  plans,  and 

e  Board  in  July  invited  Michelangelo,  through 
heir  secretary,  to  come  and  act  as  umpire.  They 
romised  to  reward  him  magnificently.^  It  does  not 
ppear  that  Michelangelo  accepted  the  offer.      In 

523,  Cardinal  Grimani,  who  was  a  famous  collector 
f  art-objects,  wrote  begging  for  some  specimen  of 

s  craft.     Grimani  left  it  open  to  him  "to  choose 

aterial  and  subject;  painting,  bronze,  or  marble, 
ccording  to  his  fancy."     Michelangelo  must  have 

1  See  the  letter  of  Ascanio  de  Novi,  reported  by  Gotti,  vol.  i.  p.  176. 

VOL.  I.  1  A 


370  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

promised  to  fulfil  the  commission,  for  we  have  a 
letter  from  Grimani  thanking  him  eflfusively/  He 
offers  to  pay  fifty  ducats  at  the  commencement  of  the 
work,  and  what  Michelangelo  thinks  fit  to  demand 
at  its  conclusion :  "  for  such  is  the  excellence  of 
your  ability,  that  we  shall  take  no  thought  of  money- 
value."  Grimani  was  Patriarch  of  Aquileja.  In  the 
same  year,  1523,  the  Genoese  entered  into  negotia- 
tions for  a  colossal  statue  of  Andrea  Doria,  which 
they  desired  to  obtain  from  the  hand  of  Michel- 
angelo. Its  execution  must  have  been  seriously 
contemplated,  for  the  Senate  of  Genoa  banked  300 
ducats  for  the  purpose.^  We  regret  that  Michel- 
angelo could  not  carry  out  a  work  so  congenial  to 
his  talent  as  this  ideal  portrait  of  the  mighty  Signor 
Capitano  would  have  been ;  but  we  may  console  our- 
selves by  reflecting  that  even  his  energies  were  not 
equal  to  all  tasks  imposed  upon  him.  The  real  matter 
for  lamentation  is  that  they  suffered  so  much  waste  in 
the  service  of  vacillating  Popes. 

To  the  year  1523  belongs,  in  all  probability,  the  last 
extant  letter  which  Michelangelo  wrote  to  his  father. 
Lodovico  was  dissatisfied  with  a  contract  which  had 
been  drawn  up  on  the  i6th  of  June  in  that  year,  and 
by  which  a  certain  sum  of  money,  belonging  to  the 
dowry  of  his  late  wife,  was  settled  in  reversion  upon 
his   eldest  son.^      Michelangelo  explains  the  tenor 

^  Gotti,  vol.  ii  p.  61,  date  July  11,  1523. 

2  Gotti,  i.  177. 

3  Lettere,  No.  xliv.     See  Milanesi's  note. 


ANGRY   LETTER   TO   LODOVICO.  37 1 

of  the  deed,  and  then  breaks  forth  into  the  follow- 
ing bitter  and  ironical  invective :  **  If  my  life  is 
a  nuisance  to  you,  you  have  found  the  means  of 
protecting  yourself,  and  will  inherit  the  key  of  that 
treasure  which  you  say  that  I  possess.  And  you  will 
be  acting  rightly ;  for  all  Florence  knows  how 
mighty  rich  you  were,  and  how  I  always  robbed 
you,  and  deserve  to  be  chastised.  Highly  will  men 
think  of  you  for  this.  Cry  out  and  tell  folk  all  you 
choose  about  me,  but  do  not  write  again,  for  you 
prevent  my  working.  What  I  have  now  to  do  is  to 
make  good  all  you  have  had  from  me  during  the 
past  five-and-twenty  years.  I  would  rather  not  tell 
ou  this,  but  I  cannot  help  it.  Take  care,  and  be 
n  your  guard  against  those  whom  it  concerns  you. 
man  dies  but  once,  and  does  not  come  back  again 
o  patch  up  things  ill  done.  You  have  put  off  till 
the  death  to  do  this.     May  God  assist  you  ! " 

In  another  draft  of  this  letter  Lodovico  is  accused 
of  going  about  the  town  complaining  that  he  was 
once  a  rich  man,  and  that  Michelangelo  had  robbed 
him.  Still,  we  must  not  take  this  for  proved ;  one 
of  the  great  artist's  main  defects  was  an  irritable 
suspiciousness,  which  caused  him  often  to  exaggerate 
slights  and  to  fancy  insults.  He  may  have  attached 
too  much  weight  to  the  grumblings  of  an  old  man, 
svhom  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart  he  loved  dearly. 


372  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 


III. 

Clement,  immediately  after  his  election,  resolved 
on  setting  Michelangelo  at  work  in  earnest  on  the 
Sacristy.  At  the  very  beginning  of  January  he  also 
projected  the  building  of  the  Laurentian  Library, 
and  wrote,  through  his  Roman  agent,  Giovanni 
Francesco  Fattucci,  requesting  to  have  two  plans 
furnished,  one  in  the  Greek,  the  other  in  the  Latin 
style.^  Michelangelo  replied  as  follows :  ^  **  I  gather 
from  your  last  that  his  Holiness  our  Lord  wishes 
that  I  should  furnish  the  design  for  the  library.  I 
have  received  no  information,  and  do  not  know 
where  it  is  to  be  erected.  It  is  true  that  Stefano 
talked  to  me  about  the  scheme,  but  I  paid  no  heed. 
When  he  returns  from  Carrara  I  will  inquire,  and 
will  do  all  that  is  in  my  power,  albeit  architecture  is 
not  my  'profession^  There  is  something  pathetic  in 
this  reiterated  assertion  that  his  real  art  was  sculp- 
ture. At  the  same  time  Clement  wished  to  provide 
for  him  for  life.  He  first  proposed  that  Buonarroti 
should  promise  not  to  marry,  and  should  enter  into 
minor  orders.  This  would  have  enabled  him  to 
enjoy  some  ecclesiastical  benefice,  but  it  would  also 
have  handed  him  over  firmly  bound  to  the  service 
of  the  Pope.  Circumstances  already  hampered  him 
enough,  and  Michelangelo,    who   chose   to   remain 

1  Correspondence  in  Gotti,  voL  i.  pp.  165,  166. 

2  Lettere,  No.  cccIxxxy.  . 


THE   LIBRARY   OF   S.    LORENZO.  373 

his  own  master,  refused.  As  Berni  wrote  :  "  Voleva 
far  da  se,  non  comandato."  As  an  alternative,  a  pen- 
sion was  suggested.  It  appears  that  he  only  asked 
for  fifteen  ducats  a  month,  and  that  his  friend  Pietro 
Gondi  had  proposed  twenty-five  ducats.  Fattucci, 
on  the  13th  of  January  1524,  rebuked  him  in  affec- 
tionate terms  for  his  want  of  pluck,  informing  him 
that  "  Jacopo  Salviati  has  given  orders  that  Spina 
should  be  instructed  to  pay  you  a  monthly  provision 
of  fifty  ducats."  Moreover,  all  the  disbursements 
made  for  the  work  at  S.  Lorenzo  were  to  be  pro- 
vided by  the  same  agent  in  Florence,  and  to  pass 
through  Michelangelo's  hands. ^  A  house  was  as- 
signed him,  free  of  rent,  at  S.  Lorenzo,  in  order 
that  he  might  be  near  his  work.  Henceforth  he 
was  in  almost  weekly  correspondence  with  Giovanni 
Spina  on  affairs  of  business,   sending  in  accounts 

nd  drawing  money  by  means  of  his  then  trusted 
servant,  Stefano,  the  miniaturist.^ 

That    Stefano    did    not   always    behave    himself 

,€cording  to  his  master's  wishes  appears  from  the 
following  characteristic  letter  addressed  by  Michel- 
angelo to  his  friend  Pietro  Gondi :  ^  "  The  poor 
an,  who  is  ungrateful,  has  a  nature  of  this  sort, 

hat  if  you  help  him  in  his  needs,  he  says  that  what 

1  See  Gotti,  i.  157. 

2  Giovanni  Spina,  the  Pope's  Florentine  agent,  seems  to  have  been 
the  bank  of  the  Salviati  (Lettere,  No.  cccxcii.)     Stefano  di  Tom- 

laso  started  in  life  as  a  miniatore.    Michelangelo  made  him  clerk  of 
bhe  works  at  S.  Lorenzo,  overseer  at  Carrara,  &c.,  in  the  way  he  adopted 
for  the  employment  of  his  principal  garzone. 
^  Lettere,  No.  ccclxxxvii.,  date  January  26,  1524. 


374  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

you  gave  him  came  out  of  superfluities ;  if  you  put 
him  in  the  way  of  doing  work  for  his  own  good,  he 
says  you  were  obliged,  and  set  him  to  do  it  because 
you  were  incapable;  and  all  the  benefits  which  he 
received  he  ascribes  to  the  necessities  of  the  bene- 
factor. But  when  everybody  can  see  that  you  acted 
out  of  pure  benevolence,  the  ingrate  waits  until  you 
make  some  public  mistake,  which  gives  him  the 
opportunity  of  maligning  his  benefactor  and  winning 
credence,  in  order  to  free  himself  from  the  obligation 
under  which  he  lies.  This  has  invariably  happened 
in  my  case.  No  one  ever  entered  into  relations  with 
me — I  speak  of  workmen — to  whom  I  did  not  do  good 
with  all  my  heart.  Afterwards,  some  trick  of  temper, 
or  some  madness,  which  they  say  is  in  my  nature, 
which  hurts  nobody  except  myself,  gives  them  an 
excuse  for  speaking  evil  of  me  and  calumniating 
my  character.  Such  is  the  reward  of  all  honest 
men." 

These  general  remarks,  he  adds,  apply  to  Stefano, 
whom  he  placed  in  a  position  of  trust  and  responsi- 
bility, in  order  to  assist  him.  "  What  I  do  is  done 
for  his  good,  because  I  have  undertaken  to  benefit 
the  man,  and  cannot  abandon  him ;  but  let  him  not 
imagine  or  say  that  I  am  doing  it  because  of  my 
necessities,  for,  God  be  praised,  I  do  not  stand  in 
need  of  men."  He  then  begs  Gondi  to  discover 
what  Stefano's  real  mind  is.  This  is  a  matter  of 
great  importance  to  him  for  several  reasons,  and 
especially  for  this:  "If  I  omitted  to  justify  myself,  L 


STEFANO   MINIATORE.  375 

and  were  to  put  another  in  his  place,  I  should  be 
published  among  the  Piagnoni  for  the  biggest  traitor 
who  ever  lived,  even  though  I  were  in  the  right." 

We  conclude,  then,  that  Michelangelo  thought  of 
dismissing  Stefano,  but  feared  lest  he  should  get 
into  trouble  with  the  powerful  political  party,  fol- 
owers  of  Savonarola,  who  bore  the  name  of  Piagnoni 
at  Florence.  Gondi  must  have  patched  the  quarrel  up, 
for  we  still  find  Stefano's  name  in  the  Ricordi  down 
to  April  4,  1524.  Shortly  after  that  date,  Antonio 
Mini  seems  to  have  taken  his  place  as  Michelangelo's 
right-hand  man  of  business.^  These  details  are  not 
so  insignificant  as  they  appear.  They  enable  us  to 
infer  that  the  Sacristy  of  S.  Lorenzo  may  have  been 
walled  and  roofed  in  before  the  end  of  April  1524 ; 
for,  in  an  undated  letter  to  Pope  Clement,  Michel- 
angelo says  that  Stefano  has  finished  the  lantern, 
and  that  it  is  universally  admired.^  With  regard  to 
this  lantern,  folk  told  him  that  he  would  make  it 
setter  than  Brunelleschi's.  "  Different  perhaps,  but 
setter,  no  ! "  he  answered. 

1  Lettere,  pp.  592,  593.  On  an  original  drawing  in  the  British.  Museum 
s  written  in  Michelangelo's  autograph,  "Disegna  Antonio,  disegna 
iuntonio,  disegna  e  non  perder  tempo."  A  pleasant  record  of  his 
nterest  in  his  pupils.    See  Fagan,  op.  dt.y  p.  99. 

2  Lettere,  No.  ccclxxxi.  The  date  of  the  roofing  in  of  the  Sacristy 
8  generally  given  as  1525  ;  but,  if  Stefano  constructed  the  cupola, 
^e  ought  to  suppose  that  he  did  it  before  the  date  of  his  disappearance 
rom  the  Ricordi.  Also  we  have  a  note  of  November  9,  1524,  record- 
ng  a  payment  made  for  glazing  the  windows  of  the  lantern  with  oiled 
>aper.  See  Lettere,  p.  596.  Indeed  the  Ricordi  prove  that  the  build- 
ng  was  going  briskly  forward  during  the  early  months  of  1524.  Con- 
ult  Springer,  vol.  ii.  p.  214. 


376  LIFE  OF  MICHELANGELO. 

The  letter  to  Clement  just  quoted  is  interesting 
in  several  respects.  The  boldness  of  the  beginning 
makes  one  comprehend  how  Michelangelo  was  ter- 
rible to  even  Popes  : — 

"Most  Blessed  Father, — Inasmuch  as  inter- 
mediates are  often  the  cause  of  grave  misunder- 
standings, I  have  summoned  up  courage  to  write 
without  their  aid  to  your  Holiness  about  the  tombs 
at  S.  Lorenzo.  I  repeat,  I  know  not  which  is  pre- 
ferable, the  evil  that  does  good,  or  the  good  that 
hurts.  I  am  certain,  mad  and  wicked  as  I  may  be, 
that  if  I  had  been  allowed  to  go  on  as  I  had  begun, 
all  the  marbles  needed  for  the  work  would  have 
been  in  Florence  to-day,  and  properly  blocked  out,  , 
with  less  cost  than  has  been  expended  on  them  up 
to  this  date ;  and  they  would  have  been  superb,  as 
are  the  others  I  have  brought  here." 

After  this  he  entreats  Clement  to  give  him  full 
authority  in  carrying  out  the  work,  and  not  to  put 
superiors  over  him.  Michelangelo,  we  know,  wasi 
extremely  impatient  of  control  and  interference ;  and 
we  shall  see,  within  a  short  time,  how  excessively 
the  watching  and  spying  of  busybodies  worried  and  i 
disturbed  his  spirits.^ 

But  these  were  not  his  only  sources  of  annoyance. 
The  heirs  of  Pope  Julius,  perceiving  that  Michel- 
angelo's time  and  energy  were  wholly  absorbed  at 
S.  Lorenzo,  began  to  threaten  him  with  a  lawsuit. 
Clement,  wanting  apparently  to  mediate   between 

^  Especially  Lettere,  No.  cd. 


TROUBLES   ABOUT  TOMB   OF  JULIUS.         377 

the  litigants,  ordered  Fattucci  to  obtain  a  report 
from  the  sculptor,  with  a  full  account  of  how  matters 
stood.  This  evoked  the  long  and  interesting  docu- 
ment which  has  been  so  often  cited.^  There  is  no 
doubt  whatever  that  Michelangelo  acutely  felt  the 
justice  of  the  Duke  of  Urbino's  grievances  against 
him.  He  was  broken-hearted  at  seeming  to  be  want- 
ing in  his  sense  of  honour  and  duty.  People,  he 
says,  accused  him  of  putting  the  money  which  had 
been  paid  for  the  tomb  out  at  usury,  "  living  mean- 
while at  Florence  and  amusing  himself"  It  also 
hurt  him  deeply  to  be  distracted  from  the  cherished 
project  of  his  early  manhood  in  order  to  superintend 
works  for  which  he  had  no  enthusiasm,  and  which 
lay  outside  his  sphere  of  operation. 

It  may,  indeed,  be  said  that  during  these  years 
Michelangelo  lived  in  a  perpetual  state  of  uneasiness 
and  anxiety  about  the  tomb  of  Julius.  As  far  back 
as  15 18  the  Cardinal  Leonardo  Grosso,  Bishop  of 
Agen,  and  one  of  Julius's  executors,  found  it  neces- 
sary to  hearten  him  with  frequent  letters  of  encour- 
agement. In  one  of  these,  after  commending  his 
zeal  in  extracting  marbles  and  carrying  on  the  monu- 
ment, the  Cardinal  proceeds :  ^    "Be  then  of  good 

^  Lettere,  No.  ccclxxxiii.  I  will  place  a  translation  of  it  in  the 
Appendix. 

2  Arch.  Buon.,  Cod.  vii.  No.  136.  The  letter  is  dated  October  24, 
15 18.  "  State  de  bono  animo  el  non  prenderti  passione  alcuna  che  piti 
crediamo  a  una  minima  vostra  parola  che  a  tutto  el  resto  ne  dicesse  el 
contrario.  Cognoscemo  la  fede  vostra  et  tanto  11  credemo  devotissimo  a 
noi  proprii,  et  se  bisogner^,  cosa  alcuna  de  quanto  noi  possemo  volemo 
com  altre  volte  ve  havemo  ditto  ne  piagliati  ogni  ampla  siguret^  percb^ 


378  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

courage,  and  do  not  yield  to  any  perturbations  of  the 
spirit,  for  we  put  more  faith  in  your  smallest  word 
than  if  all  the  world  should  say  the  contrary.  We 
know  your  loyalty,  and  believe  you  to  be  wholly 
devoted  to  our  person ;  and  if  there  shall  be  need  of 
aught  which  we  can  supply,  we  are  willing,  as  we 
have  told  you  on  other  occasions,  to  do  so ;  rest  then 
in  all  security  of  mind,  because  we  love  you  from 
the  heart,  and  desire  to  do  all  that  may  be  agreeable 
to  you."  This  good  friend  was  dead  at  the  time  we 
have  now  reached,  and  the  violent  Duke  Francesco 
Maria  della  Eovere  acted  as  the  principal  heir  of 
Pope  Julius.^ 

In  a  passion  of  disgust  he  refused  to  draw  his 
pension,  and  abandoned  the  house  at  S.  Lorenzo. 
This  must  have  happened  in  March  1524,  for  his 
friend  Leonardo  writes  to  him  from  Rome  upon  the 
24th :  ^  **  I  am  also  told  that  you  have  declined 
your  pension,  which  seems  to  me  mere  madness, 
and  that  you  have  thrown  the  house  up,  and  do  not 
work.  Friend  and  gossip,  let  me  tell  you  that 
you    have    plenty    of   enemies,    who    speak    their 

ve  amamo  ex  corde  et  desideramo  farvi  ogni  piacere.*'  I  doubt  whether 
I  have  got  the  words  right  of  this  passage.  The  two  following  letters, 
Nos.  136  and  137,  dated  December  29,  15 18,  and  May  19,  15 19  (?),  are 
to  the  same  efifect,  breathing  a  spirit  of  thorough  confidence  and  warm 
attachment. 

1  The  Cardinal  Aginensis  died  in  the  autumn  of  1520.  Sebastiano 
del  Piombo,  writing  to  Michelangelo,  says  that  poison  was  suspected. 
**  A  dirti  el  vero  si  bisbiglia  che  '1  cardinale  h  stato  avvelenato."  Les 
Correspondants,  p.  20. 

*  Gotti,  i.  157. 


DISGUST   AND   DESPERATION.  379 

worst ;  also  that  the  Pope  and  Pucci  and  Jacopo 
8alviati  are  your  friends,  and  have  plighted  their 
troth  to  you.  It  is  unworthy  of  you  to  break  your 
word  to  them,  especially  in  an  affair  of  honour. 
Leave  the  matter  of  the  tomb  to  those  who  wish 
you  well,  and  who  are  able  to  set  you  free  without 
the  least  encumbrance,  and  take  care  you  do  not 
come  short  in  the  Pope's  work.  Die  first.  And 
take  the  pension,  for  they  give  it  with  a  willing 
heart."  How  long  he  remained  in  contumacy  is 
not  quite  certain ;  apparently  until  the  29th  of 
August.  We  have  a  letter  written  on  that  day  to 
Giovanni  Spina  :^  "After  I  left  you  yesterday,  I 
went  back  thinking  over  my  affairs ;  and,  seeing 
that  the  Pope  has  set  his  heart  on  S.  Lorenzo,  and 
how  he  urgently  requires  my  service,  and  has  ap- 
pointed me  a  good  provision  in  order  that  I  may 
serve  him  with  more  convenience  and  speed ;  seeing 
also  that  not  to  accept  it  keeps  me  back,  and  that  I 
have  no  good  excuse  for  not  serving  his  Holiness ; 
I  have  changed  my  mind,  and  whereas  I  hitherto 
refused,  I  now  demand  it  (i.e.,  the  salary),  consider- 
ing this  far  wiser,  and  for  more  reasons  than  I  care 
to  write ;  and,  more  especially,  I  mean  to  return  to 
the  house  you  took  for  me  at  S.  Lorenzo,  and  settle 
down  there  like  an  honest  man  :  inasmuch  as  it  sets 
gossip  going,  and  does  me  great  damage  not  to  go 

1  Lettere,  No.  cccxci.  There  is,  however,  a  letter  (No.  cccxc.)  which 
Milanesi  dates  August  8,  1524.  In  it  Michelangelo  writes  to  Spina  for 
money  for  the  library,  and  signs  "  at  S.  Lorenzo." 


38o  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

back  there."  From  a  Ricordo  dated  October  19, 
1524,  we  learn  in  fact  that  he  then  drew  his  full 
pay  for  eight  months/ 


IV. 

Since  Michelangelo  was  now  engaged  upon  the 
Medicean  tombs  at  S.  Lorenzo,  it  will  be  well  to  give 
some  account  of  the  several  plans  he  made  before 
deciding  on  the  final  scheme,  which  he  partially 
executed.  We  may  assume,  I  think,  that  the  sac- 
risty, as  regards  its  general  form  and  dimensions, 
faithfully  represents  the  first  plan  approved  by 
Clement.  This  follows  from  the  rapidity  and  regu- 
larity with  which  the  structure  was  completed. 
But  then  came  the  question  of  filling  it  with  sarco- 
phagi and  statues.  As  early  as  November  28,  1520, 
Giulio  de'  Medici,  at  that  time  Cardinal,  wrote  from 
the  Villa  Magliana  to  Buonarroti,  addressing  him 
thus :  "  Spectabilis  vir,  amice  noster  charissime"  ^ 
He  says  that  he  is  pleased  with  the  design  for  the 
chapel,  and  with  the  notion  of  placing  the  four 
tombs  in  the  middle.  Then  he  proceeds  to  make 
some  sensible  remarks  upon  the  difficulty  of  getting 
these  huge  masses  of  statuary  into  the  space  pro- 
vided for  them.  Michelangelo,  as  Heath  Wilson  : 
Las  pointed  out,  very  slowly  acquired  the  sense  of 
^  Lettere,  p.  596.     See  too  p.  440.  ^  Gotti,  i.  150.  ^ 

f 


\J. 


X5i 


Architectural  Drawing,  No.  1. 


EARLY   PLANS   FOR   THE   SACRISTY.  381 

proportion  on  which  technical  architecture  depends. 
His  early  sketches  only  show  a  feeling  for  mass 
and  picturesque  effect,  and  a  strong  inclination  to 
subordinate  the  building  to  sculpture. 

It  may  be  questioned  who  were  the  four  Medici 
for  whom  these  tombs  were  intended.  Cambi,  in  a 
passage  quoted  above,  writing  at  the  end  of  March 
1520  (]),  says  that  two  were  raised  for  Giuliano, 
Duke  of  Nemours,  and  Lorenzo,  Duke  of  Urbino, 
and  that  the  Cardinal  meant  one  to  be  for  himself. 
The  fourth  he  does  not  speak  about.  It  has  been 
conjectured  that  Lorenzo  the  Magnificent  and  his 
brother  Giuliano,  fathers  respectively  of  Leo  and  of 
Clement,  were  to  occupy  two  of  the  sarcophagi ;  and 
also,  with  greater  probability,  that  the  two  Popes, 
Leo  and  Clement,  were  associated  with  the  Dukes. 

Before  1524  the  scheme  expanded,  and  settled 
into  a  more  definite  shape.  The  sarcophagi  were  to 
support  statue-portraits  of  the  Dukes  and  Popes, 
with  Lorenzo  the  Magnificent  and  his  brother 
Giuliano.  At  their  base,  upon  the  ground,  were 
to  repose  six  rivers,  two  for  each  tomb,  showing  that 
each  sepulchre  would  have  held  two  figures.  The 
rivers  were  perhaps  Arno,  Tiber,  Metauro,  Po,  Taro, 
and  Ticino.  This  we  gather  from  a  letter  written 
to  Michelangelo  on  the  23rd  of  May  in  that  year.^ 
Michelangelo  made  designs  to  meet  this  plan,  but 
whether  the  tombs  were  still  detached  from  the  wall 
does  not  appear.     Standing  inside  the  sacristy,  it 

1  Gotti,  i.  158. 


382  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

seems  impossible  that  six  statue-portraits  and  six 
river  gods  on  anything  like  a  grand  scale  could 
have  been  crowded  into  the  space,  especially  v^hen 
we  remember  that  there  was  to  be  an  altar,  with 
other  objects  described  as  ornaments — '*  gli  altri 
ornamenti."  Probably  the  Madonna  and  Child, 
with  SS.  Cosimo  and  Damiano,  now  extant  in  thei 
chapel,  formed  an  integral  part  of  the  successive: 
schemes. 

One  thing  is  certain,  that  the  notion  of  placing 
the  tombs  in  the  middle  of  the  sacristy  was  soon 
abandoned.  All  the  marble  panelling,  pilasters, 
niches,  and  so  forth,  which  at  present  clothe  the 
walls  and  dominate  the  architectural  eflfect,  are 
clearly  planned  for  mural  monuments.  A  rude 
sketch  preserved  in  the  Uffizi  throws  some  light 
upon  the  intermediate  stages  of  the  scheme.^  It  is 
incomplete,  and  was  not  finally  adopted ;  but  we 
see  in  it  one  of  the  four  sides  of  the  chapel,  divided 
vertically  above  into  three  compartments,  the  middle 
being  occupied  by  a  Madonna,  the  two  at  the  sides 
filled  in  with  bas-reliefs.  At  the  base,  on  sarcophagi 
or  cassoni,  recline  two  nude  male  figures.  The  space 
between  these  and  the  upper  compartments  seems 
to  have  been  reserved  for  allegorical  figures,  since 
a  colossal  naked  boy,  ludicrously  out  of  scale  with 
the  architecture  and  the  recumbent  figures,  has  been 
hastily  sketched  in.  In  architectural  proportion  . 
and   sculpturesque    conception  this  design   is  very 

^  Published  in  VCEuvre  et  la  Fi'e,  p.  269. 


DRAWINGS   FOR  THE   SACRISTY.  383 

poor.  It  has  the  merit,  however,  of  indicating  a 
moment  in  the  evolution  of  the  project  when  the 
mural  scheme  had  been  adopted.  The  decorative 
details  which  surmount  the  composition  confirm  the 
feeling  every  one  must  have,  that,  in  their  present 
state,  the  architecture  of  the  Medicean  monuments 
remains  imperfect. 

In  this  process  of  endeavouring  to  trace  the 
development  of  Michelangelo's  ideas  for  the  sacristy, 
seven  original  drawings  at  the  British  Museum  are 
of  the  greatest  importance.^  They  may  be  divided 
into  three  groups.  One  sketch  seems  to  belong  to 
the  period  when  the  tombs  were  meant  to  be  placed 
in  the  centre  of  the  chapel.  It  shows  a  single  facet 
of  the  monument,  with  two  sarcophagi  placed  side 
by  side  and  seated  figures  at  the  angles.  Five  are 
variations  upon  the  mural  scheme,  which  was  even- 
tually adopted.  They  differ  considerably  in  details, 
proving  what  trouble  the  designer  took  to  combine 
a  large  number  of  figures  in  a  single  plan.  He 
clearly  intended  at  some  time  to  range  the  Medicean 
statues  in  pairs,  and  studied  several  types  of  curve 
for  their  sepulchral  urns.  The  feature  common  to 
all  of  them  is  a  niche,  of  door  or  window  shape, 
with  a  powerfully  indented  architrave.  Reminis- 
cences of  the  design  for  the  tomb  of  Julius  are  not 
infrequent ;  and  it  may  be  remarked,  as  throwing  a 

1  Four  are  in  chalk,  two  in  pen  and  ink.  The  seventh,  which  shows 
a  difterent  conception,  but  may  be  assigned  with  probability  to  the 
same  series,  is  in  chalk,  worked  over  with  the  pen. 


384  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

side-light  upon  that  irrecoverable  project  of  his  earlier 
manhood,  that  the  figures  posed  upon  the  various 
spaces  of  architecture  differ  in  their  scale.  Two 
belonging  to  this  series  are  of  especial  interest,  since 
we  learn  from  them  how  he  thought  of  introducing 
the  rivers  at  the  basement  of  the  composition.  It 
seems  that  he  hesitated  long  about  the  employment 
of  circular  spaces  in  the  framework  of  the  marble 
panelling.  These  were  finally  rejected.  One  of  the 
finest  and  most  comprehensive  of  the  drawings  I  am 
now  describing  contains  a  rough  draft  of  a  curved  sar- 
cophagus, with  an  allegorical  figure  reclining  upon 
it,  indicating  the  first  conception  of  the  Dawn. 
Another,  blurred  and  indistinct,  with  clumsy  archi- 
tectural environment,  exhibits  two  of  these  allegories, 
arranged  much  as  we  now  see  them  at  S.  Lorenzo. 
A  river-god,  recumbent  beneath  the  feet  of  a  female 
statue,  carries  the  eye  down  to  the  ground,  and 
enables  us  to  comprehend  how  these  subordinate 
figures  were  wrought  into  the  complex  harmony  of 
flowing  lines  he  had  imagined.  The  seventh  study 
differs  in  conception  from  the  rest ;  it  stands  alone. 
There  are  four  handlings  of  what  begins  like  a  huge 
portal,  and  is  gradually  elaborated  into  an  archi- 
tectural scheme  containing  three  great  niches  for 
statuary.  It  is  powerful  and  simple  in  design, 
governed  by  semicircular  arches — a  feature  which 
is  absent  from  the  rest. 

All  these  drawings  are  indubitably  by  the  hand 
of  Michelangelo,  and  must  be  reckoned  among  his 


!■'  y^'l 


<,^-,<^^v        ■■'■  X 


Architectural  Drawing,  No.  2. 


k" 


.«w 


oi/^ 


'Cf 


Architectural  Drawing,  No.  3. 


PROGRESS   OF  THE   SACRISTY  385 

first  free  efforts  to  construct  a  working  plan.  The 
Albertina  Collection  at  Vienna  yields  us  an  elaborate 
design  for  the  sacristy,  which  appears  to  have  been 
worked  up  from  some  of  the  rougher  sketches.  It 
is  executed  in  pen,  shaded  with  bistre,  and  belongs 
to  what  I  have  ventured  to  describe  as  office  work.^ 
It  may  have  been  prepared  for  the  inspection  of  Leo 
and  the  Cardinal.  Here  we  have  the  sarcophagi  in 
pairs,  recumbent  figures  stretched  upon  a  shallow 
curve  inverted,  colossal  orders  of  a  bastard  Ionic 
type,  a  great  central  niche  framing  a  seated  Madonna, 
two  male  figures  in  side  niches,  suggestive  of  Giuli- 
mo  and  Lorenzo  as  they  were  at  last  conceived,  four 
allegorical  statues,  and,  to  crown  the  whole  structure, 
candelabra  of  a  peculiar  shape,  with  a  central  round, 
supported  by  two  naked  genii.  It  is  difficult,  as  I 
lave  before  observed,  to  be  sure  how  much  of  the 
Irawings  executed  in  this  way  can  be  ascribed  with 
safety  to  Michelangelo  himself.  They  are  carefully 
)utlined,  with  the  precision  of  a  working  architect ; 
)ut  the  sculptural  details  bear  the  aspect  of  what 
nay  be  termed  a  generic  Florentine  style  of  draughts- 
nanship. 

Two  important  letters  from  Michelangelo  to  Fat- 
ucci,  written  in  October  1525  and  April  1526,  show 
hat  he  had  then  abandoned  the  original  scheme, 
md  adopted  one  which  was  all  but  carried  into 
^ffect.^  "  I  am  working  as  hard  as  I  can,  and  in 
ifteen  days  I  shall  begin  the  other  captain.     After- 

^  See  above,  Chapter  VI.  Section  11.         -  Lettere,  Nos.  cd.  and  cdii. 

VOL.  I. 

2  B 


386  LIFE   OF  MICHELANGELO. 

wards  the  only  important  things  left  will  be  the  foui 
rivers.     The  four  statues  on  the  sarcophagi,  the  fou] 
figures  on  the  ground  which  are  the  rivers,  the  twc 
captains,  and  Our  Lady,  who  is  to  be  placed  upor 
the  tomb  at  the  head  of  the  chapel ;  these  are  what 
I  mean  to  do  with  my  own  hand.     Of  these  I -have 
begun  six ;  and  I  have  good  hope  of  finishing  then 
in  due  time,  and  carrying  the  others  forward  in  part 
which  do  not  signify  so  much."      The  six  he  hac 
begun  are   clearly  the  Dukes  and  their   attendan 
figures  of  Day,  Night,  Dawn,  Evening.     The  Ma 
donna,  one   of   his  noblest  works,   came  within  i 
short    distance    of    completion.      SS.    Cosimo   anc 
Damiano  passed  into  the  hands  of  Montelupo  anc 
Montorsoli.     Of  the  four  rivers  we  have  only  fragi 
ments  in  the  shape  of  some  exquisite  little  models 
Where  they  could  have  been  conveniently  placed  i 
difiicult  to  imagine ;  possibly  they  were  abandone 
from  a  feeling  that  the  chapel  would  be  overcrowdec 


V. 

According  to  the  plan  adopted  in  this  book, 
shall  postpone  such  observations  as  I  have  to  mak 
upon  the  Medicean  monuments  until  the  date  whe 
Michelangelo  laid  down  his  chisel,  and  shall  no^ 
proceed  with  the  events  of  his  life  during  the  yeai 
1525  and  1526. 


i 


LAWSUIT   WITH   DUKE   OF   URBINO.  387 

He  continued  to  be  greatly  troubled  about  the 
tomb  of  Julius  II.  The  lawsuit  instituted  by  the 
Duke  of  Urbino  hung  over  his  head ;  and  though 
he  felt  sure  of  the  Pope's  powerful  support,  it  was 
extremely  important,  both  for  his  character  and  com- 
fort, that  affairs  should  be  placed  upon  a  satisfactory 
basis.  Fattucci  in  Rome  acted  not  only  as  Clement's 
agent  in  business  connected  with  S.  Lorenzo ;  he 
also  was  intrusted  with  negotiations  for  the  settle- 
ment of  the  Duke's  claims.  The  correspondence 
which  passed  between  them  forms,  therefore,  our 
best  source  of  information  for  this  period.  On 
Christmas  Eve  in  1524  Michelangelo  writes  from 
Florence  to  his  friend,  begging  him  not  to  postpone 
a  journey  he  had  in  view,  if  the  only  business  which 
detained  him  was  the  trouble  about  the  tomb/  A 
pleasant  air  of  manly  affection  breathes  through  this 

nJdocument,  showing  Michelangelo  to  have  been  un- 

J  [selfish  in  a  matter  which  weighed  heavily  and  daily 
on  his  spirits.  How  greatly  he  was  affected  can  be 
inferred  from  a  letter  written  to  Giovanni  Spina  on 
the  19th  of  April  1525.  While  reading  this,  it  must 
be  remembered  that  the  Duke  laid  his  action  for  the 
recovery  of  a  considerable  balance,  which  he  alleged 

k|to  be  due  to  him  upon  disbursements  made  for  the 
monument.     Michelangelo,  on  the  contrary,  asserted 

\^  that  he  was  out  of  pocket,  as  we  gather  from  the 
lengthy  report  he  forwarded  in   1524  to  Fattucci.''^ 

[S?  1  Lettere,  No.  cccxciii. 

2  Lettere,  No.  ccclxxxiii.     See  Appendix. 


388  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

The  difficulty  in  the  accounts  seems  to  have  arisen 
from  the  fact  that  payments  for  the  Sistine  Chapel 
and  the  tomb  had  been  mixed  up.  The  letter  to  Spina 
runs  as  follows  :  ^  "  There  is  no  reason  for  sending  a 
power  of  attorney  about  the  tomb  of  Pope  Julius, 
because  I  do  not  want  to  plead.  They  cannot  bring 
a  suit  if  I  admit  that  I  am  in  the  wrong  ;  so  I  assume 
that  I  have  sued  and  lost,  and  have  to  pay ;  and  this 
I  am  disposed  to  do,  if  I  am  able.  Therefore,  if  the 
Pope  will  help  me  in  the  matter — and  this  would  be 
the  greatest  satisfaction  to  me,  seeing  I  am  too  old 
and  ill  to  finish  the  work — he  might,  as  intermediary, 
express  his  pleasure  that  I  should  repay  what  I  have 
received  for  its  performance,  so  as  to  release  me  from 
this  burden,  and  to  enable  the  relatives  of  Pope  Julius 
to  carry  out  the  undertaking  by  any  master  whom  they 
may  choose  to  employ.  In  this  way  his  Holiness  could 
be  of  very  great  assistance  to  me.  Of  course  I  desire 
to  reimburse  as  little  as  possible,  always  consistently 
with  justice.  His  Holiness  might  employ  some  of 
my  arguments,  as,  for  instance,  the  time  spent  for 
the  Pope  at  Bologna,  and  other  times  wasted  with- 
out any  compensation,  according  to  the  statements  I 
have  made  in  full  to  Ser  Giovan  Francesco  (Fattucci). 
Directly  the  terms  of  restitution  have  been  settled, 
I  will  engage  my  property,  sell,  and  put  myself  in  a 
position  to  repay  the  money.  I  shall  then  be  able  to 
think  of  the  Pope's  orders  and  to  work ;  as  it  is,  I 
can  hardly  be  said  to  live,  far  less  to  work.     There 

^  Lettere,  No.  cccxciv. 


CLEMENT   NEGOTIATES.  389 

is  no  other  way  of  putting  an  end  to  the  affair  more 
safe  for  myself,  nor  more  agreeable,  nor  more  certain 
to  ease  my  mind.  It  can  be  done  amicably  without 
a  lawsuit.  I  pray  to  God  that  the  Pope  may  be 
willing  to  accept  the  mediation,  for  I  cannot  see  that 
any  one  else  is  fit  to  do  it." 

Giorgio  Vasari  says  that  he  came  in  the  year 
1525  for  a  short  time  as  pupil  to  Michelangelo/ 
In  his  own  biography  he  gives  the  date,  more  cor- 
rectly, 1524.  At  any  rate,  the  period  of  Vasari's 
brief  apprenticeship  was  closed  by  a  journey  which 
the  master  made  to  Rome,  and  Buonarroti  placed 
the  lad  in  Andrea  del  Sarto's  workshop.  ^*  He  left 
for  Home  in  haste.  Francesco  Maria,  Duke  of  Ur- 
bino,  was  again  molesting  him,  asserting  that  he 
had  received  16,000  ducats  to  complete  the  tomb, 
while  he  stayed  idling  at  Florence  for  his  own  amuse- 
ment. He  threatened  that,  if  he  did  not  attend  to 
the  work,  he  would  make  him  suffer.  So,  when  he 
arrived  there,  Pope  Clement,  who  wanted  to  com- 
mand his  services,  advised  him  to  reckon  with  the 
i  Duke's  agents,  believing  that,  for  what  he  had  already 
done,  he  was  rather  creditor  than  debtor.  The  matter 
remained  thus."  We  do  not  know  when  this  journey 
to  Rome  took  place.  From  a  hint  in  the  letter  of 
December  24,  1524,  to  Fattucci,  where  Michelangelo 
observes  that  only  he  in  person  would  be  able  to 
arrange  matters,  it  is  possible  that  we  may  refer  it 
to  the  beginning  of  1525.     Probably  he  was  able 

^  Vasari,  xii.  p.  204.     See  note  2. 


390  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

to  convince,  not  only  the  Pope,  but  also  the  Duke's 
agents  that  he  had  acted  with  scrupulous  honesty 
and  that  his  neglect  of  the  tomb  was  due  to  circum- 
stances over  which  he  had  no  control,  and  which  he 
regretted  as  acutely  as  anybody.  There  is  no  shadow 
of  doubt  that  this  was  really  the  case.  Every  word 
written  by  Michelangelo  upon  the  subject  shows 
that  he  was  heart-broken  at  having  to  abandon  the 
long-cherished  project. 

Some  sort  of  arrangement  must  have  been  arrived 
at.  Clement  took  the  matter  into  his  own  hands, 
and  during  the  summer  of  1525  amicable  negotia 
tions  were  in  progress.  On  the  4th  of  Septembei 
Michelangelo  writes  again  to  Fattucci,  saying  that  he 
is  quite  willing  to  complete  the  tomb  upon  the  same 
plan  as  that  of  the  Pope  Pius  (now  in  the  Churcl] 
of  S.  Andrea  della  Valle) — that  is,  to  adopt  a  mura 
system  instead  of  the  vast  detached  monument. 
This  would  take  less  time.  He  again  urges  hij 
friend  not  to  stay  at  Rome  for  the  sake  of  these 
afiairs.  He  hears  that  the  plague  is  breaking  out 
there.  ''  And  I  would  rather  have  you  alive  thar 
my  business  settled.  If  I  die  before  the  Pope,  ] 
shall  not  have  to  settle  any  troublesome  affairs.  I: 
I  live,  I  am  sure  the  Pope  will  settle  them,  if  noi 
now,  at  some  other  time.  So  come  back.  I  was 
with  your  mother  yesterday,  and  advised  her,  in  the 
presence  of  Granacci  and  John  the  turner,  to  send 
for  you  home." 

^  Lettere,  No.  cccxcviii. 


WORK   ON   THE   MEDICEAN   TOMBS.  391 

While  in  Eome  Michelangelo  conferred  with 
Clement  about  the  sacristy  and  library  at  S.  Lorenzo. 
For  a  year  after  his  return  to  Florence  he  worked 
steadily  at  the  Medicean  monuments,  but  not  with- 
out severe  annoyances,  as  appears  from  the  follow- 
ing to  Fattucci :  ^  *'  The  four  statues  I  have  in 
hand  are  not  yet  finished,  and  much  has  still  to 
be  done  upon  them.  The  four  rivers  are  not  begun, 
because  the  marble  is  wanting,  and  yet  it  is  here. 
I  do  not  think  it  opportune  to  tell  you  why.  With 
regard  to  the  ajffairs  of  Julius,  I  am  well  disposed  to 
make  the  tomb  like  that  of  Pius  in  S.  Peter's,  and 
will  do  so  little  by  little,  now  one  piece  and  now 
another,  and  will  pay  for  it  out  of  my  own  pocket, 
if  I  keep  my  pension  and  my  house,  as  you  promised 
me.  I  mean,  of  course,  the  house  at  Rome,  and  the 
marbles  and  other  things  I  have  there.^  So  that, 
in  fine,  I  should  not  have  to  restore  to  the  heirs  of 
Julius,  in  order  to  be  quit  of  the  contract,  anything 
which  I  have  hitherto  received  ;  the  tomb  itself, 
completed  after  the  pattern  of  that  of  Pius,  sufficing 
for  my  full  discharge.  Moreover,  I  undertake  to 
perform  the  work  within  a  reasonable  time,  and  to 
finish  the  statues  with  my  own  hand."  He  then 
turns  to  his  present  troubles  at  Florence.  The 
pension  was  in  arrears,  and  busybodies  annoyed 
him  with  interferences  of  all  sorts.  "  If  my  pension 
were    paid,   as  was    arranged,   I  would   never  stop 

^  Lettere,  No.  cd.,  date  October  24,  1525. 
^  Near  the  Forum  of  Trajan.     See  ab(>ve 


392  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

working  for  Pope  Clement  with  all  the  strength  I 
have,  small  though  that  be,  since  I  am  old.  At  the 
same  time  I  must  not  be  slighted  and  aflfronted  as 
I  am  now,  for  such  treatment  weighs  greatly  on  my 
spirits.  The  petty  spites  I  speak  of  have  prevented  me 
from  doing  what  I  want  to  do  these  many  months ; 
one  cannot  work  at  one  thing  with  the  hands,  an- 
other with  the  brain,  especially  in  marble.  'Tis 
said  here  that  these  annoyances  are  meant  to  spur 
me  on ;  but  I  maintain  that  those  are  scurvy  spurs 
which  make  a  good  steed  jib.  I  have  not  touched 
my  pension  during  the  past  year,  and  struggle  with 
poverty.  I  am  left  in  solitude  to  bear  my  troubles, 
and  have  so  many  that  they  occupy  me  more  than 
does  my  art;  I  cannot  keep  a  man  to  manage  my 
house  through  lack  of  means." 

Michelangelo's  dejection  caused  serious  anxiety 
to  his  friends.  Jacopo  Salviati,  writing  on  the  30th 
October  from  Rome,  endeavoured  to  restore  his 
courage.-^  "  I  am  greatly  distressed  to  hear  of 
the  fancies  you  have  got  into  your  head.  What 
hurts  me  most  is  that  they  should  prevent  your 
working,  for  that  rejoices  your  ill-wishers,  and 
confirms  them  in  what  they  have  always  gone  on 
preaching  about  your  habits."  He  proceeds  to  tell 
him  how  absurd  it  is  to  suppose  that  Baccio  Ban- 
dinelli  is  preferred  before  him.  "  I  cannot  perceive 
how  Baccio  could  in  any  way  whatever  be  compared 
to  you,  or  his  work  be  set  on  the  same  level  as  your 

1  Gotti,  i.  173. 


DISCOURAGEMENT   AND   LETHARGY.         393 

own."  The  letter  winds  up  with  exhortations  to 
work.  **  Brush  these  cobwebs  of  melancholy  away  ; 
have  confidence  in  his  Holiness  ;  do  not  give  occasion 
to  your  enemies  to  blaspheme,  and  be  sure  that  your 
pension  will  be  paid ;  I  pledge  my  word  for  it." 
Buonarroti,  it  is  clear,  wasted  his  time,  not  through 
indolence,  but  through  allowing  the  gloom  of  a 
suspicious  and  downcast  temperament — what  the 
Italians  call  accidia — to  settle  on  his  spirits. 

Skipping  a  year,  we  find  that  these  troublesome 
negotiations  about  the  tomb  were  still  pending.  He 
still  hung  suspended  between  the  devil  and  the  deep 
sea,  the  importunate  Duke  of  Urbino  and  the  vacil- 
lating Pope.  Spina,  it  seems,  had  been  writing  with 
too  much  heat  to  Kome,  probably  urging  Clement  to 
bring  the  difficulties  about  the  tomb  to  a  conclusion. 
Michelangelo  takes  the  correspondence  up  again 
with  Fattucci  on  November  6,  1526.^  What  he 
says  at  the  beginning  of  the  letter  is  significant. 
He  knows  that  the  political  difficulties  in  which 
Clement  had  become  involved  were  sufficient  to  dis- 
tract his  mind,  as  Julius  once  said,  from  any  interest 
in  **  stones  small  or  big."  Well,  the  letter  starts 
thus  :  **  I  know  that  Spina  wrote  in  these  days  past 
to  Rome  very  hotly  about  my  afiairs  with  regard  to 
the  tomb  of  Julius.  If  he  blundered,  seeing  the 
times  in  which  we  live,  I  am  to  blame,  for  I  prayed 
him  urgently  to  write.  It  is  possible  that  the  trouble 
of  my  soul  made  me  say  more  than  I  ought.     Infor- 

^  Lettere,  No.  cdiii. 


394  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

mation  reached  me  lately  about  that  affair  which 
alarmed  me  greatly.  It  seems  that  the  relatives  of 
Julius  are  very  ill-disposed  towards  me.  And  not 
without  reason.^ — The  suit  is  going  on,  and  they  are 
demanding  capital  and  interest  to  such  an  amount 
that  a  hundred  of  my  sort  could  not  meet  the  claims. 
This  has  thrown  me  into  terrible  agitation,  and 
makes  me  reflect  where  I  should  be  if  the  Pope 
failed  me.  I  could  not  live  a  moment.  It  is  that 
which  made  me  send  the  letter  alluded  to  above. 
Now,  I  do  not  want  anything  but  what  the  Pope 
thinks  right,  I  know  that  he  does  not  desire  my 
ruin  and  my  disgrace." 

He  proceeds  to  notice  that  the  building  work  at 
S.  Lorenzo  is  being  carried  forward  very  slowly,  and 
money  spent  upon  it  with  increasing  parsimony. 
Still  he  has  his  pension  and  his  house ;  and  these 
imply  no  small  disbursements.  He  cannot  make  out 
what  the  Pope's  real  wishes  are.  If  he  did  but  know 
Clement's  mind,  he  would  sacrifice  everything  to 
please  him.  '*  Only  if  I  could  obtain  permission  to 
begin  something,  either  here  or  in  Rome,  for  the 
tomb  of  Julius,  I  should  be  extremely  glad  ;  for, 
indeed,  I  desire  to  free  myself  from  that  obligation 
more  than  to  live."  The  letter  closes  on  a  note  of 
sadness  :  "  If  I  am  unable  to  write  what  you  will 
understand,  do  not  be  surprised,  for  I  have  lost  my 
wits  entirely." 

1  I  think  he  means  that  his  fright  is  not  unreasonable.     Or  the  "not 
without  reason  "  may  be  ironical. 


POLITICAL  EVENTS.  395 

After  this  we  hear  nothing  more  about  the  tomb 
in  Michelangelo's  correspondence  till  the  year  1531. 
During  the  intervening  years  Italy  was  convulsed 
by  the  sack  of  Rome,  the  siege  of  Florence,  and 
the  French  campaigns  in  Lombardy  and  Naples. 
Matters  only  began  to  mend  when  Charles  V.  met 
Clement  at  Bologna  in  1530,  and  established  the 
affairs  of  the  peninsula  upon  a  basis  which  proved 
durable.  That  fatal  lustre  (i 526-1 530)  divided  the 
Italy  of  the  Renaissance  from  the  Italy  of  modern 
times  with  the  abruptness  of  an  Alpine  watershed. 
Yet  Michelangelo,  aged  fifty-one  in  1526,  was  des- 
tined to  live  on  another  thirty-eight  years,  and,  after 
the  death  of  Clement,  to  witness  the  election  of  five 
successive  Popes.  The  span  of  his  life  was  not 
only  extraordinary  in  its  length,  but  also  in  the 
events  it  comprehended.  Born  in  the  mediseval 
pontificate  of  Sixtus  IV.,  brought  up  in  the  golden 
days  of  Lorenzo  de'  Medici,  he  survived  the  Franco- 
Spanish  struggle  for  supremacy,  watched  the  pro- 
gress of  the  Reformation,  and  only  died  when  a 
new  Church  and  a  new  Papacy  had  been  established 
by  the  Tridentine  Council  amid  states  sinking  into 
the  repose  of  decrepitude. 


396  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 


VI. 

We  must  return  from  this  digression,  and  resume 
the  events  of  Michelangelo's  life  in  1525. 

The  first  letter  to  Sebastiano  del  Piombo  is  re- 
ferred to  April  of  that  year.^  He  says  that  a  pic- 
ture, probably  the  portrait  of  Anton  Francesco  degii 
Albizzi,  is  eagerly  expected  at  Florence.  When  it 
arrived  in  May,  he  wrote  again  under  the  influence 
of  generous  admiration  for  his  friend's  performance  :  2 
"Last  evening  our  friend  the  Captain  Cuio  and 
certain  other  gentlemen  were  so  kind  as  to  invite 
me  to  sup  with  them.  This  gave  me  exceeding 
great  pleasure,  since  it  drew  me  forth  a  little  from 
my  melancholy,  or  shall  we  call  it  my  mad  mood. 
Not  only  did  1  enjoy  the  supper,  which  was  most 
agreeable,  but  far  more  the  conversation.  Among 
the  topics  discussed,  what  gave  me  most  delight  was 
to  hear  your  name  mentioned  by  the  Captain ;  nor 
was  this  all,  for  he  still  added  to  my  pleasure,  nay, 
to  a  superlative  degree,  by  saying  that,  in  the  art  of 
painting  he  held  you  to  be  sole  and  without  peer  in 
the  whole  world,  and  that  so  you  were  esteemed  at 
Rome.  I  could  not  have  been  better  pleased.  You 
see  that  my  judgment  is  confirmed;  and  so  you  must 
not  deny  that  you  are  peerless,  when  I  write  it,  since  I 
have  a  crowd  of  witnesses  to  my  opinion.     There  is 

1  Letters,  No.  cccxcvi, 

'  Lettere,  No.  cccxcvii.     Cuio  Dini  died  in  the  sack  of  Rome. 


LIBRARY    OF   S.    LORENZO.  397 

a  picture  too  of  yours  here,  God  be  praised,  which 
wins  credence  for  me  with  every  one  who  has  eyes." 

Correspondence  was  carried  on  during  this  year 
regarding  the  library  at  S.  Lorenzo ;  and  though  I 
do  not  mean  to  treat  at  length  about  that  building 
in  this  chapter,  I  cannot  omit  an  autograph  post- 
script added  by  Clement  to  one  of  his  secretary's 
missives  :  ^  "  Thou  knowest  that  Popes  have  no  long 
lives  ;  and  we  cannot  yearn  more  than  we  do  to  behold 
the  chapel  with  the  tombs  of  our  kinsmen,  or  at 
any  rate  to  hear  that  it  is  finished.  Likewise,  as 
regards  the  library.  Wherefore  we  recommend  both 
to  thy  diligence.  Meantime  we  will  betake  us  (as 
thou  saidst  erewhile)  to  a  wholesome  patience, 
praying  God  that  He  may  put  it  into  thy  heart  to 
push  the  whole  forward  together.  Fear  not  that 
either  work  to  do  or  rewards  shall  fail  thee  while 
we  live.  Farewell,  with  the  blessing  of  God  and 
ours. — Julius." 

Michelangelo  began  the  library  in  1526,  as  appears 
from  his  Ricordi.  Still  the  work  went  on  slowly, 
not  through  his  negligence,  but,  as  we  have  seen, 
from  the  Pope's  preoccupation  with  graver  matters. 
He  had  a  great  many  workmen  in  his  service  at 
this  period,^  and  employed  celebrated  masters  in 
their  crafts,  as  Tasso  and  Carota  for  wood-carving, 
Battista  del  Cinque  and  Ciapino  for  carpentry,  upon 
the  various  fittings  of  the  library.     All  these  details 

^  Gotti,  i.  166.    The  Pope  signs  with  his  baptismal  name. 

*  See  a  list  of  stone-hewera  in  BicordOj  August  31,  1524,  p.  584. 


398  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

he  is  said  to  have  designed  ;  and  it  is  certain  that  he 
was  considered  responsible  for  their  solidity  and  hand- 
some appearance.  Sebastiano,  for  instance,  wrote 
to  him  about  the  benches  :  ^  "  Our  Lord  wishes  that 
the  whole  work  should  be  of  carved  walnut.  He 
does  not  mind  spending  three  florins  more  ;  for  that 
is  a  trifle,  if  they  are  Cosimesque  in  style,  I  mean 
resemble  the  work  done  for  the  magnificent  Cosimo." 
Michelangelo  could  not  have  been  the  solitary  worker 
of  legend  and  tradition.  The  nature  of  his  present 
occupations  rendered  this  impossible.  For  the  com- 
pletion of  his  architectural  works  he  needed  a  band 
of  able  coadjutors.  Thus  in  1526  Giovanni  da 
Udine  came  from  Rome  to  decorate  the  vault  of  the 
sacristy  with  frescoed  arabesques.^     His  work  was 

1  Les  CorrespondantSf  p.  104. 

2  This  painter  was  one  of  Kaffaello's  pupils  who  enjoyed  Michel- 
angelo's intimacy.  There  is  a  letter  addressed  by  Giovanni  to  him  as  early 
as  the  year  1 522,  "  L'otava  di  Pasqua  di  Risurecione,"  Arch.  Buon.,  Cod. 
ix.  No.  729.  The  supposition  that  he  came  to  Florence  in  1 526  is  founded 
on  a  letter  by  Fattucci  in  that  year  (Gotti,  i.  170)  ;  but  I  believe,  from 
one  of  his  own  letters  which  I  shall  proceed  to  quote,  that  he  did 
not  begin  to  paint  until  1531.  We  find  him  writing  on  the  25th  of 
December  15  31  to  Michelangelo  (ibid..  No.  730)  saying  that  the  Pope 
wants  him  to  execute  the  stucchi  of  his  "Cappella  hover  Tribuna.'' 
He  adds,  what  is  interesting,  that  all  his  workpeople  have  perished  in 
the  sack  of  Rome,  and  that  he  is  obliged  to  educate  a  new  set :  "  in 
queste  frangenti  di  Roma,  e  bisogna  fame  de  novi."  Then  he  begs 
Buonarroti  to  send  him  particulars  regarding  the  shape  and  dimensions 
of  the  chapel,  which  shows  that  when  Clement  thought  of  sending  him 
in  1526,  he  had  been  prevented  by  the  troubles  of  the  times.  He 
worked  entirely  under  Michelangelo's  orders,  and  designed  the  beauti- 
ful windows  for  the  library.  An  inedited  letter  from  Giovan  Francesco 
Bini  in  Rome  to  Michelangelo  in  Florence,  dated  August  3,  1533 
(Arch.  Buon.,  Cod.  vi.  No.  92),  indicates  that  he  was  still  at  work.    Bini 


FRESH   WORK  AT   S.   LORENZO.  399 

nearly  terminated  in  1533,  when  some  question 
arose  about  painting  the  inside  of  the  lantern. 
Sebastiano,  apparently  in  good  faith,  made  the 
following  burlesque  suggestion:^  **For  myself,  I 
think  that  the  Ganymede  would  go  there  very  well ; 
one  could  put  an  aureole  about  him,  and  turn  him 
into  a  S.  John  of  the  Apocalypse  when  he  is  being 
caught  up  into  the  heavens."  The  whole  of  one 
side  of  the  Italian  Renaissance,  its  so-called  neo- 
paganism,  is  contained  in  this  remark. 

While  still  occupied  with  thoughts  about  S. 
Lorenzo,  Clement  ordered  Michelangelo  to  make  a 
receptacle  for  the  precious  vessels  and  reliques 
collected  by  Lorenzo  the  Magnificent.  It  was  first 
intended  to  place  this  chest,  in  the  form  of  a 
ciborium,  above  the  high  altar,  and  to  sustain  it  on 
four  columns.  Eventually,  the  Pope  resolved  that 
it  should  be  a  sacrarium,  or  cabinet  for  holy  things, 
and  that  this  should  stand  above  the  middle  entrance 
door  to  the  church.  The  chest  was  finished,  and 
its  contents  remained  there  until  the  reign  of  the 
Grand-Duke  Pietro  Leopoldo,  when  they  were  re- 
moved to  the  chapel  next  the  old  sacristy. 

Another  very  singular  idea  occurred  to  his  Holiness 
in  the  autumn  of  1525.     He  made  Fattucci  write 

says  the  Pope  is  willing  to  give  Giovanni  leave  of  absence,  but  that  he 
must  return :  "  che  M.  Giov.  da  Udine  vadia  ove  desidera  sua  S^a 
e  contenta  ma  che  torni,"  &c.  Michelangelo  left  Florence  himself  in 
the  autumn  of  that  year. 

^  Les  Correspondants,  p.  104.     Sebastiano  probably  alludes  to  some 
design  for  a  Ganymede  made  by  Michelangelo. 


400  LIFE   OF  MICHELANGELO. 

that  he  wished  to  erect  a  colossal  statue  on  the 
piazza  of  S.  Lorenzo,  opposite  the  Stufa  Palace.  The 
giant  was  to  surmount  the  roof  of  the  Medicean 
Palace,  with  its  face  turned  in  that  direction  and 
its  back  to  the  house  of  Luigi  della  Stufa.  Being 
so  huge,  it  would  have  to  be  composed  of  sepa- 
rate pieces  fitted  together.^  Michelangelo  speedily- 
knocked  this  absurd  plan  on  the  head  in  a  letter 
which  gives  a  good  conception  of  his  dry  and  some- 
what ponderous  humour.^ 

*'  About  the  Colossus  of  forty  cubits,  which  you  tell 
me  is  to  go  or  to  be  placed  at  the  corner  of  the 
loggia  in  the  Medicean  garden,  opposite  the  corner 
of  Messer  Luigi  della  Stufa,  I  have  meditated  not  a 
little,  as  you  bade  me.  In  my  opinion  that  is  not 
the  proper  place  for  it,  since  it  would  take  up  too 
much  room  on  the  roadway.  I  should  prefer  to  put 
it  at  the  other,  where  the  barber's  shop  is.  This 
would  be  far  better  in  my  judgment,  since  it  has  the 
square  in  front,  and  would  not  encumber  the  street. 
There  might  be  some  difficulty  about  pulling  down 
the  shop,  because  of  the  rent.  So  it  has  occurred 
to  me  that  the  statue  might  be  carved  in  a  sitting 
position ;  the  Colossus  would  be  so  lofty  that  if  we 
made  it  hollow  inside,  as  indeed  is  the  proper 
method  for  a  thing  which  has  to  be  put  together 
from  pieces,  the  shop  might  be  enclosed  within  it, 
and  the  rent  be  saved.  And  inasmuch  as  the  shop  has 
a  chimney  in  its  present  state,  I  thought  of  placing 

1  Gotti,  i.  1 68.  *  Lettere,  No.  cccxcix. 


PROJECT   FOR   A   COLOSSUS.  401 

a  cornucopia  in  the  statue's  hand,  hollowed  out  for 
the  smoke  to  pass  through.  The  head  too  would 
be  hollow,  like  all  the  other  members  of  the  figure. 
This  might  be  turned  to  a  useful  purpose,  according 
to  the  suggestion  made  me  by  a  huckster  on  the 
square,  who  is  my  good  friend.  He  privily  confided 
to  me  that  it  would  make  an  excellent  dovecote. 
Then  another  fancy  came  into  my  head,  which  is 
still  better,  though  the  statue  would  have  to  be 
considerably  heightened.  That,  however,  is  quite 
feasible,  since  towers  are  built  up  of  blocks ;  and 
then  the  head  might  serve  as  bell-tower  to  San 
Lorenzo,  which  is  much  in  need  of  one.  Setting  up 
the  bells  inside,  and  the  sound  booming  through  the 
mouth,  it  would  seem  as  though  the  Colossus  were 
crying  mercy,  and  mostly  upon  feast-days,  when 
peals  are  rung  most  often  and  with  bigger  bells." 

Nothing  more  is  heard  of  this  fantastic  project; 
whence  we  may  conclude  that  the  irony  of  Michel- 
angelo's epistle  drove  it  out  of  the  Pope's  head. 


VOL.  I.  2  0 


CHAPTER  IX. 

I.  Michelangelo  was  at  Florence  during  the  sack  of  Rome. — Meagre 

documents  relating  to  1528. — Death  of  Buonarroto. — Cellini  ano 

Michelangelo, — Valerio   Belli. — 2.  Florence  expects  a  siege  anc 

prepares  to  arm. — Michelangelo  elected  a  member  of  the  Nov( 

della  Milizia  in  April  1529. — He  begins  to  fortify  S.  Miniato.— 

Inspects  the  fortress  of  Pisa. — Difficulties  with  the  Gonfaloniej 

Capponi. — Sent  to   Ferrara  in  July. — 3.    He   was   certainly  ii 

Florence  after  the  middle  of  September. — Sudden  flight  to  Venic« 

at  the  end  of  this  month.  —  Letter  to  Giovanni  Battista  delli 

Palla. — Various  notices  regarding  the  reason  of  this  flight. — Ques 

tion  whether  he  had  already  been  in  Venice  during  the  summe 

of  this  year. — The  RicordOy  September  10. — 4.  Residence  on  th 

Giudecca  in  Venice. — A  sentence  of  outlawry  issued  against  hi: 

at  Florence. — The  Signory  grant  him  a  safe-conduct  home,  if  h 

will  return. — Palla's  letters. — Michelangelo  in  Florence  again  a 

the   end  of  November   1529. — Progress  of  the  siege. — Malatest 

Baglioni  betrays  the  city. — Capitulation,  August  1530. — 5.  Bacc: 

Valori  and  the  return  of  the  Medici. — Persecution  of  the  Flore: 

},  tine  patriots. — Michelangelo  goes  into  hiding,  but  is  pardoned  b 

Clement,  and  set  to  work  again  at  S.  Lorenzo.— The  Cacus  an 

Hercules. — The  tempera  picture  of  a   Leda,  and  its  history.- 

Michelangelo's  attitude  toward  subjects  for  art-work. — The  Apoll 

begun  for  Baccio  Valori. — 6.  Lodovico  at  Pisa  during  the  siege. 

Young  Lionardo  Buonarroti. — Michelangelo  works  steadily  at  th 

Medicean  monuments. — Invitations  to  Rome. — Negotiations  aboi 

the  tomb  of  Julius. — Michelangelo's  health  sufi'ers  from  overwop  M 

and  worry. — Clement  issues  a  brief  enjoining  him  to  spare  h: 

strength. — Sebastiano's  efforts  with  the  Pope  and  Duke  of  Urbir 

end  ill  a  new  contract  for  the  tomb,  April  29,   1532. — Furth^ 

troubles  connected  with  this  contract. — Condivi's  general  histoi 

of  the  affair. — 7.  Michelangelo  in  disfavour  with  Duke  Alessandi 

de'  Medici. — His  attitude  toward  the  reigning  family. — Clemen 

on  his  way  to  France,  meets  him  at  S.  Miniato  al   Tedesco.- 

403 


THE   SACK   OF   ROME.  403 

Lodovico  Buonarroti  dies  about  this  time. — Michelangelo  leaves 
Florence  in  the  late  autumn  of  1534. — His  poem  on  Lodovico's 
death. 


I. 

It  lies  outside  the  scope  of  this  work  to  describe 
the  series  of  events  which  led  up  to  the  sack  of 
Rome  in  1527.  Clement,  by  his  tortuous  policy, 
jand  by  the  avarice  of  his  administration,  had  alien- 
ated every  friend  and  exasperated  all  his  foes.  The 
Eternal  City  was  in  a  state  of  chronic  discontent 
and  anarchy.  The  Colonna  princes  drove  the  Pope 
to  take  refuge  in  the  Castle  of  S.  Angelo  ;  and  when 
the  Lutheran  rabble  raised  by  Frundsberg  poured 
into  Lombardy,  the  Duke  of  Ferrara  assisted  them 
to  cross  the  Po,  and  the  Duke  of  Urbino  made  no 
3ffort  to  bar  the  passes  of  the  Apennines.  Losing 
Dne  leader  after  the  other,  these  ruffians,  calling 
themselves  an  Imperial  army,  but  being  in  reality 
the  scum  and  offscourings  of  all  nations,  without 
my  aim  but  plunder  and  ignorant  of  policy,  reached 
(Rome  upon  the  6th  of  May.  They  took  the  city  by 
assault,  and  for  nine  months  Clement,  leaning  from 
^he  battlements  of  Hadrian's  Mausoleum,  watched 
smoke  ascend  from  desolated  palaces  and  desecrated 
:emples,  heard  the  wailing  of  women  and  the  groans 
)f  tortured  men,  mingling  with  the  ribald  jests 
^f  German  drunkards  and  the  curses  of  Castilian 
pandits.  Roaming  those  galleries  and  gazing  from 
hose  windows,  he  is  said  to  have  exclaimed  in  the 


llf 


404  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

words  of  Job:  **Why  died  I  not  from  the  womb? 
why  did  I  not  give  up  the  ghost  when  I  came  out 
of  the  belly?" 

The  immediate  effect  of  this  disaster  was  that 
the  Medici  lost  their  hold  on  Florence.  The  Car- 
dinal of  Cortona,  with  the  young  princes  Ippolito 
and  Alessandro  de'  Medici,  fled  from  the  city  on  the 
17th  of  May,  and  a  popular  government  was  set  up 
under  the  presidency  of  Niccolb  Capponi. 

During  this  year  and  the  next,  Michelangelo  was 
at  Florence ;  but  we  know  very  little  respecting 
the  incidents  of  his  life.  A  Ricordo  bearing  the 
date  April  29  shows  the  disturbed  state  of  the 
town.^  "  I  record  how,  some  days  ago,  Piero  di 
Filippo  Gondi  asked  for  permission  to  enter  the 
new  sacristy  at  S.  Lorenzo,  in  order  to  hide  there  m, 
certain  goods  belonging  to  his  family,  by  reason  of  Li 
the  perils  in  which  we  are  now.  To-day,  upon  the 
29th  of  April  1527,  he  has  begun  to  carry  in  some^jj 
bundles,  which  he  says  are  linen  of  his  sisters ;  and  })g 
I,  not  wishing  to  witness  what  he  does  or  to  know  \^ 
where  he  hides  the  gear  away,  have  given  him  the  j^j 
key  of  the  sacristy  this  evening."  jl^ 

There  are  only  two  letters  belonging  to  the  yeai  Ju 
1527.     Both  refer  to  a  small  office  which  had  been 
awarded  to  Michelangelo  with  the  right  to  dispose  § 
of  the  patronage.     He   offered   it  to  his  favourite 
brother,  Buonarroto,   who   does  not  seem  to  have 
thought  it  worth  accepting.^ 

*  Lettere,  p.  598.  ^  Lettere,  Nos.  cxxii.,  cxxiii.,  August. 


DEATH   OF  BUONARROTO.  405 

The  documents  for  1528  are  almost  as  meagre. 
We  do  not  possess  a  single  letter,  and  the  most 
mportant  Ricordi  relate  to  Buonarroto's  death  and 
;he  administration  of  his  property.  He  died  of  the 
blague  upon  the  2nd  of  July,  to  the  very  sincere 
sorrow  of  his  brother.  It  is  said  that  Michelangelo 
leld  him  in  his  arms  while  he  was  dying,  with- 
out counting  the  risk  to  his  own  life.-^  Among  the 
ninutes  of  disbursements  made  for  Buonarroto's 
-vidow  and  children  after  his  burial,  we  find  that 
;heir  clothes  had  been  destroyed  because  of  the 
nfection.  All  the  cares  of  the  family  now  fell  on 
Aiichelangelo's  shoulders.  He  placed  his  niece 
Francesca  in  a  convent  till  the  time  that  she  should 
narry,  repaid  her  dowry  to  the  widow  Bartolom- 
nea,  and  provided  for  the  expenses  of  his  nephew 
iLionardo.^ 

'  For  the  rest,  there  is  little  to  relate  which  has 
imy  bearing  on  the  way  in  which  he  passed  his  time 
Defore  the  siege  of  Florence  began.  One  glimpse, 
''lowever,  is  afforded  of  his  daily  life  and  conver- 
sation by  Benvenuto  Cellini,  who  had  settled  in 
Florence  after  the  sack  of  Rome,  and  was  working 
n  a  shop  he  opened  at  the  Mercato  Nuovo.^  The 
episode  is  sufficiently  interesting  to  be  quoted.  A 
^ienese  gentleman  had  commissioned  Cellini  to 
nake  him  a  golden  medal,  to  be  worn  in  the  hat. 


I 


1  The  Senator  Filippo  Buonarroti,  quoted  by  Gotti,  i.  207. 

2  Ricordi  for  1528,  in  Letters,  pp.  599-601. 

3  Memorie,  lib.  i.  cap.  41. 


4o6  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

"The  subject  was  to  be  Hercules  wrenching  the 
lion's  mouth.  While  I  was  working  at  this  piece, 
Michel  Agnolo  Buonarroti  came  oftentimes  to  see 
it.  I  had  spent  infinite  pains  upon  the  design,  so 
that  the  attitude  of  the  figure  and  the  fierce  pas- 
sion of  the  beast  were  executed  in  quite  a  dijfferent 
style  from  that  of  any  craftsman  who  had  hitherto 
attempted  such  groups.  This,  together  with  the  fact 
that  the  special  branch  of  art  was  totally  unknown 
to  Michel  Agnolo,  made  the  divine  master  give  such 
praises  to  my  work  that  I  felt  incredibly  inspired 
for  further  efi'ort. 

"  Just  then  I  met  with  Federigo  Ginori,  a  young 
man  of  very  lofty  spirit.  He  had  lived  some  years 
in  Naples,  and  being  endowed  with  great  charms 
of  person  and  presence,  had  been  the  lover  of  a 
Neapolitan  princess.  He  wanted  to  have  a  medal 
made  with  Atlas  bearing  the  world  upon  his 
shoulders,  and  applied  to  Michel  Agnolo  for  a 
design.  Michel  Agnolo  made  this  answer :  *  Go 
and  find  out  a  young  goldsmith  named  Benvenuto ; 
he  will  serve  you  admirably,  and  certainly  he  does 
not  stand  in  need  of  sketches  by  me.  However,  to 
prevent  your  thinking  that  I  want  to  save  myself 
the  trouble  of  so  slight  a  matter,  I  will  gladly 
sketch  you  something;  but  meanwhile  speak  to 
Benvenuto,  and  let  him  also  make  a  model;  he 
can  then  execute  the  better  of  the  two  designs.' 
Federigo  Ginori  came  to  me  and  told  me  what  he 
wanted,  adding   thereto   how  Michel   Agnolo   had 


COURTESY  TO   CELLINI.  407 

praised  me,  and  how  he  had  suggested  I  should 
make  a  waxen  model  while  he  undertook  to  supply 
a  sketch.  The  words  of  that  great  man  so  heartened 
me,  that  I  set  myself  to  work  at  once  with  eager- 
ness upon  the  model ;  and  when  I  had  finished  it, 
a  painter  who  was  intimate  with  Michel  Agnolo, 
called  Giuliano  Bugiardini,  brought  me  the  drawing 
of  Atlas.  On  the  same  occasion  I  showed  Giuliano 
my  little  model  in  wax,  which  was  very  different 
from  Michel  Agnolo's  drawing ;  and  Federigo,  in 
concert  with  Bugiardini,  agreed  that  I  should  work 
upon  my  model.  So  I  took  it  in  hand,  and  when 
Michel  Agnolo  saw  it,  he  praised  me  to  the  skies." 

The  courtesy  shown  by  Michelangelo  on  this  occa- 
sion to  Cellini  may  be  illustrated  by  an  inedited 
letter  addressed  to  him  from  Vicenza.^  The  writer 
was  Valerio  Belli,  who  describes  himself  as  a  cor- 
nelian-cutter. He  reminds  the  sculptor  of  a  promise 
once  made  to  him  in  Florence  of  a  design  for  an 
engraved  gem.  A  remarkably  fine  stone  has  just 
come  into  his  hands,  and  he  should  much  like  to 
begin  to  work  upon  it.  These  proofs  of  Buonarroti's 
liberality  to  brother  artists  are  not  unimportant, 
since  he  was  unjustly  accused  during  his  lifetime  of 
stinginess  and  churlishness. 

^  Date  April  21,  1 521.     "Valerio  Belli  clie  taglia  le  Corniole."    Arch. 
Buon.,  Cod.  vi.  No.  52. 


4o8  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 


II. 

At  the  end  of  the  year  1528  it  became  clear  to 
the  Florentines  that  they  would  have  to  reckon  with 
Clement  VII.  As  early  as  August  18,  1527,  France 
and  England  leagued  together,  and  brought  pressure 
upon  Charles  V.,  in  whose  name  Rome  had  been 
sacked.  Negotiations  were  proceeding,  which  eventu- 
ally ended  in  the  peace  of  Barcelona  (June  20,  1529), 
whereby  the  Emperor  engaged  to  sacrifice  the  Re- 
public to  the  Pope's  vengeance.  It  was  expected 
that  the  remnant  of  the  Prince  of  Orange's  army 
would  be  marched  up  to  besiege  the  town.  Under 
the  anxiety  caused  by  these  events,  the  citizens  raised 
a  strong  body  of  militia,  enlisted  Malatesta  Baglioni 
and  Stefano  Colonna  as  generals,  and  began  to  take 
measures  for  strengthening  the  defences.  What 
may  be  called  the  War  Office  of  the  Florentine  Re- 
public bore  the  title  of  Dieci  della  Guerra,  or  the 
Ten.  It  was  their  duty  to  watch  over  and  provide 
for  all  the  interests  of  the  commonwealth  in  military 
matters,  and  now  at  this  juncture  serious  measures 
had  to  be  taken  for  putting  the  city  in  a  state  of 
defence.  Already  in  the  year  1527,  after  the  expul- 
sion of  the  Medici,  a  subordinate  board  had  been 
created,  to  whom  very  considerable  executive  and 
administrative  faculties  were  delegated.^    This  board, 

1  The  Republic,  in  fact,  adopted  Machiavelli's  scheme  for  a  national 
militia,  as  set  forth  in  his  treatise  on  the  Art  of  War. 


FORTIFICATION   OF  FLORENCE.  409 

called  the  Nove  della  Milizia,  or  the  Nine,  were  em- 
powered to  enrol  all  the  burghers  under  arms,  and  to 
^  take  charge  of  the  walls,  towers,  bastions,  and  other 
fortifications.  It  was  also  within  their  competence 
to  cause  the  destruction  of  buildings,  and  to  com- 
pensate the  evicted  proprietors  at  a  valuation  which 
they  fixed  themselves.-^  In  the  spring  of  1529  the 
War  Office  decided  to  gain  the  services  of  Michel- 
angelo, not  only  because  he  was  the  most  eminent 
architect  of  his  age  in  Florence,  but  also  because 
the  Buonarroti  family  had  always  been  adherents 
of  the  Medicean  party,  and  the  Ten  judged  that 
his  appointment  to  a  place  on  the  Nove  di  Milizia 
would  be  popular  with  the  democracy.^  The  patent 
conferring  this  office  upon  him,  together  with  full 
authority  over  the  work  of  fortification,  was  issued 
on  the  6th  of  April.^  Its  terms  were  highly  com- 
plimentary. **  Considering  the  genius  and  practical 
attainments  of  Michelangelo  di  Lodovico  Buonarroti, 
our  citizen,  and  knowing  how  excellent  he  is  in 
architecture,  beside  his  other  most  singular  talents 
in  the  liberal  arts,  by  virtue  whereof  the  common 
consent  of  men  regards  him  as  unsurpassed  by  any 
masters  of  our  times ;  and,  moreover,  being  assured 
that  in  love  and  affection  toward  the  country  he 
is  the  equal  of  any  other  good  and  loyal  burgher; 
bearing  in  mind,  too,  the  labour  he  has  undergone 

^  Yarclii,  iStor.  Fior.,  vol.  i.  p.  184. 

^  See  document,  quoted  by  Milanesi,  Vasari,  xii.  365. 

"  The  original  is  given  in  Gotti,  vol.  ii.  p.  62, 


410  LIFE   OF  MICHELANGELO. 

and  the  diligence  he  has  displayed,  gratis  and  of 
his  free  will,  in  the  said  work  (of  fortification)  up  to 
this  day;  and  wishing  to  employ  his  industry  and 
energies  to  the  like  effect  in  future  ;  we,  of  our 
motion  and  initiative,  do  appoint  him  to  be  governor 
and  procurator- general  over  the  construction  and 
fortification  of  the  city  walls,  as  well  as  every  other 
sort  of  defensive  operation  and  munition  for  the 
town  of  Florence,  for  one  year  certain,  beginning 
with  the  present  date ;  adding  thereto  full  autho- 
rity over  all  persons  in  respect  to  the  said  work 
of  reparation  or  pertaining  to  it."  From  this  pre- 
amble it  appears  that  Michelangelo  had  been  already 
engaged  in  volunteer  service  connected  with  the  de- 
fence of  Florence.  A  stipend  of  one  golden  florin 
per  diem  was  fixed  by  the  same  deed ;  and  upon  the 
22nd  of  April  following  a  payment  of  thirty  florins 
was  decreed,  for  one  month's  salary,  dating  from  the 
6th  of  April.^ 

If  the  Government  thought  to  gain  popular  sym- 
pathy by  Michelangelo's  appointment,  they  made 
the  mistake  of  alienating  the  aristocracy.  It  was 
the  weakness  of  Florence,  at  this  momentous  crisis 
in  her  fate,  to  be  divided  into  parties,  political, 
religious,  social;  whose  internal  jealousies  deprived 
her  of  the  strength  which  comes  alone  from  unity. 
When  Giambattista  Busini  wrote  that  interesting 
series  of  letters  to  Benedetto  Varchi  from  which  the 
latter  drew  important  materials  for  his  annals  of  the 

1  Vasari,  xii.  365. 


CONTROLLER-GENERAL  OF  THE  DEFENCES.  4" 

siege,  he  noted  this  fact.^  "  Envy  must  always  be 
reckoned  as  of  some  account  in  republics,  especially 
when  the  nobles  form  a  considerable  element,  as  in 
ours :  for  they  were  angry,  among  other  matters,  to 
see  a  Carducci  made  Gonfalonier,  Michelangelo  a 
member  of  the  Nine,  a  Cei  or  a  Giugni  elected  to 
the  Ten." 

Michelangelo  had  scarcely  been  chosen  to  control 
the  general  scheme  for  fortifying  Florence,  when 
the  Signory  began  to  consider  the  advisability  of 
strengthening  the  citadels  of  Pisa  and  Livorno,  and 
erecting  lines  along  the  Arno.^  Their  commissary 
at  Pisa  wrote  urging  the  necessity  of  Buonarroti's 
presence  on  the  spot.  In  addition  to  other  pressing 
needs,  the  Arno,  when  in  flood,  threatened  the 
ancient  fortress  of  the  city.  Accordingly  we  find 
that  Michelangelo  went  to  Pisa  on  the  5  th  of  June, 
and  that  he  stayed  there  over  the  13th,  returning 
to  Florence  perhaps  upon  the  17th  of  the  month.^ 
The  commissary,  who  spent  several  days  in  con- 
ferring with  him  and  in  visiting  the  banks  of  the 
Arno,  was  perturbed  in  mind  because  Michelangelo 
refused  to  exchange  the  inn  where  he  alighted  for 
an  apartment  in  the  ofiicial  residence.  This  is  very 
characteristic  of  the  artist.  We  shall  soon  find 
him,  at  Ferrara,  refusing  to  quit  his  hostelry  for 
the  Duke's  palace,  and,  at  Venice,  hiring  a  remote 

^  Letters  del  Busini  al  Varchi.    Firenze  :  Le  Monnier,  1861,  p.  133. 

2  Correspondence  between   the   Signory   and  their  commissary,  G 
Tosinghi,  at  Pisa,  between  April  28  and  May  6.     Gaye,  ii.  184-185. 

3  Documents  in  Gaye,  11.  194  ;  Vasari,  xii.  367. 


412  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

lodging  on  the  Giudecca  in  order  to  avoid  the  hos- 
pitality of  S.  Mark. 

An  important  part  of  Michelangelo's  plan  for  the 
fortification  of  Florence  was  to  erect  bastions  cover- 
ing the  hill  of  S.  Miniato.  Any  one  v^ho  stands 
upon  the  ruined  tower  of  the  church  there  will  see 
at  a  glance  that  S.  Miniato  is  the  key  to  the  position 
for  a  beleaguering  force;  and  "if  the  enemy  once 
obtained  possession  of  the  hill,  he  would  become 
immediately  master  of  the  town."  ^  It  must,  I  think, 
have  been  at  this  spot  that  Buonarroti  was  work- 
ing before  he  received  the  appointment  of  controller- 
general  of  the  works.  Yet  he  found  some  difficulty 
in  persuading  the  rulers  of  the  state  that  his  plan  was 
the  right  one.  Busini,  using  information  supplied 
by  Michelangelo  himself  at  Rome  in  1549,  speaks 
as  follows:^  "Whatever  the  reason  may  have  been, 
Niccolb  Capponi,  while  he  was  Gonfalonier,  would 
not  allow  the  hill  of  S.  Miniato  to  be  fortified,  and 
Michelangelo,  who  is  a  man  of  absolute  veracity, 
tells  me  that  he  had  great  trouble  in  convincing  the 
other  members  of  the  Government,  but  that  he  could 
never  convince  Niccolb.  However,  he  began  the 
work,  in  the  way  you  know,  with  those  fascines  of 
tow.  But  Niccolb  made  him  abandon  it,  and  sent 
him  to  another  post ;  and  when  he  was  elected  to 
the  Nine,  they  despatched  him  twice  or  thrice  out- 
side the  city.     Each  time,  on  his  return,  he  found 

1  Condivi,  p.  47.     Probably  the  words  are  Michelangelo's. 
"  Busini,  p.  103. 


STRENGTHENING   OF   S.    MINIATO.  413 

the  hill  neglected,  whereupon  he  complained,  feel- 
ing this  a  blot  upon  his  reputation  and  an  insult 
to  his  magistracy.  Eventually,  the  works  went  on, 
until,  when  the  besieging  army  arrived,  they  were 
tenable." 

Michelangelo  had  hitherto  acquired  no  practical 
acquaintance  with  the  art  of  fortification.  That  the 
system  of  defence  by  bastions  was  an  Italian  in- 
vention (although  Albert  Dtirer  first  reduced  it  to 
written  theory  in  his  book  of  1527,  suggesting  im- 
provements which  led  up  to  Vauban's  method)  is  a 
fact  acknowledged  by  military  historians.  But  it  does 
not  appear  that  Michelangelo  did  more  than  carry  out 
defensive  operations  in  the  manner  familiar  to  his 
predecessors.  Indeed,  we  shall  see  that  some  critics 
found  reason  to  blame  him  for  want  of  science  in 
the  construction  of  his  outworks.  When,  therefore, 
a  difference  arose  between  the  controller-general  of 
defences  and  the  Gonfalonier  upon  this  question  of 
strengthening  S.  Miniato,  it  was  natural  that  the 
War  Office  should  have  thought  it  prudent  to  send 
their  chief  officer  to  the  greatest  authority  upon 
fortification  then  alive  in  Italy.^  This  was  the  Duke 
of  Ferrara.  Busini  must  serve  as  our  text  in  the 
first  instance  upon  this  point.^  '*  Michelangelo  says 
that,   when   neither   Niccolb   Capponi   nor   Baldas- 

1  That  the  Florentine  Government  was  seriously  anxious  to  get  the 
Duke's  advice  appears  from  a  letter  of  Giugni  to  the  Ten,  August  9, 
1529,  recommending  them  to  send  the  Duke  a  ground-plan  of  the  city 
and  its  environs  for  his  opinion.     See  Gaye,  ii.  200. 

2  Busini,  p.  115. 


414  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

sare  Carducci  would  agree  to  the  outworks  at  S. 
Miniato,  he  convinced  all  the  leading  men  except 
Niccolb  of  their  necessity,  showing  that  Florence 
could  not  hold  out  a  single  day  without  them. 
Accordingly  he  began  to  throw  up  bastions  with 
fascines  of  tow  ;  but  the  result  was  far  from  per- 
fect, as  he  himself  confessed.  Upon  this,  the  Ten 
resolved  to  send  him  to  Ferrara  to  inspect  that 
renowned  work  of  defence.  Thither  accordingly  he 
went;  nevertheless,  he  believes  that  Niccolb  did 
this  in  order  to  get  him  out  of  the  way,  and  to  pre- 
vent the  construction  of  the  bastion.  In  proof 
thereof  he  adduces  the  fact  that,  upon  his  return, 
he  found  the  whole  work  interrupted." 

Furnished  with  letters  to  the  Duke,  and  with 
special  missives  from  the  Signory  and  the  Ten 
to  their  envoy.  Gale  otto  Giugni,  Michelangelo 
left  Florence  for  Ferrara  after  the  28th  of  July, 
and  reached  it  on  the  2nd  of  August.^  He  re- 
fused, as  Giugni  writes  with  some  regret,  to  abandon 
his  inn,  but  was  personally  conducted  with  great 
honour  by  the  Duke  all  round  the  walls  and 
fortresses  of  Ferrara.  On  what  day  he  quitted  that 
city,  and  whither  he  went  immediately  after  his 
departure,  is  uncertain.  The  Ten  wrote  to  Giugni 
on  the  8th  of  August,  saying  that  his  presence  was 
urgently  required  at  Florence,  since  the  work  of 
fortification  was  going  on  apace,  "  a  multitude  of 
men  being  employed,  and  no  respect  being  paid  to 

1  Gaye,  ii.  197-200. 


JOURNEY  TO   FERRARA.  415 

feast-days  and  holidays."  It  would  also  seem  that, 
toward  the  close  of  the  month,  he  was  expected  at 
Arezzo,  in  order  to  survey  and  make  suggestions  on 
the  defences  of  the  city.^ 

These  points  are  not  insignificant,  since  we 
possess  a  Ricordo  by  Michelangelo,  written  upon 
an  unfinished  letter  bearing  the  date  **  Venice,  Sep- 
tember 10,"  which  has  been  taken  to  imply  that  he 
had  been  resident  in  Venice  fourteen  days — that  is, 
from  the  28th  of  August.  None  of  his  contemporaries 
or  biographers  mention  a  visit  to  Venice  at  the  end 
of  August  1529.  It  has,  therefore,  been  conjectured 
that  he  went  there  after  leaving  Ferrara,  but  that 
his  mission  was  one  of  a  very  secret  nature.  This 
seems  inconsistent  with  the  impatient  desire  ex- 
pressed by  the  War  Office  for  his  return  to  Florence 
after  the  8th  of  August.  Allowing  for  exchange  of 
letters  and  rate  of  travelling,  Michelangelo  could 
not  have  reached  home  much  before  the  1 5th.  It  is 
also  inconsistent  with  the  fact  that  he  was  expected 
in  Arezzo  at  the  beginning  of  September.  I  shall 
have  to  return  later  on  to  the  Ricordo  in  question, 
which  has  an  important  bearing  on  the  next  and 
most  dramatic  episode  in  his  biography. 

1  Letter  from  Ant.  Fr.  degli  Albizzi  to  the  Ten,  September  8,  1529. 
Gaye,  ii.  206. 


4i6  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 


III. 

Michelangelo  must  certainly  have  been  at  Flor- 
ence soon  after  the  middle  of  September.  One  of 
those  strange  panics  to  which  he  was  constitution- 
ally subject,  and  which  impelled  him  to  act  upon  a 
suddenly  aroused  instinct,  came  now  to  interrupt 
his  work  at  S.  Miniato,  and  sent  him  forth  into 
outlawry.  It  was  upon  the  21st  of  September  that 
he  fled  from  Florence,  under  circumstances  which 
have  given  considerable  difficulty  to  his  biographers. 
I  am  obliged  to  disentangle  the  motives  and  to  set 
forth  the  details  of  this  escapade,  so  far  as  it  is 
possible  for  criticism  to  connect  them  into  a  cohe- 
rent narrative.  With  this  object  in  view,  I  will 
begin  by  translating  what  Condi vi  says  upon  the 
subject."^ 

"  Michelangelo's  sagacity  with  regard  to  the  im- 
portance of  S.  Miniato  guaranteed  the  safety  of  the 
town,  and  proved  a  source  of  great  damage  to  the 
enemy.  Although  he  had  taken  care  to  secure  the 
position,  he  still  remained  at  his  post  there,  in  case 
of  accidents ;  and  after  passing  some  six  months, 
rumours  began  to  circulate  among  the  soldiers  about 
expected  treason.  Buonarroti,  then,  noticing  these 
reports,  and  being  also  warned  by  certain  officers 
who  were  his  friends,  approached  the  Signory,  and 
laid  before  them  what  he  had  heard  and  seen.     He 

^  Condivi,  p.  47. 


FLIGHT   FROM   FLORENCE.  417 

sxplained  the  danger  hanging  over  the  city,  and  told 
hem  there  was  still  time  to  provide  against  it,  if 
hey  would.  Instead  of  receiving  thanks  for  this 
ervice,  he  was  abused,  and  rebuked  as  being 
imorous  and  too  suspicious.  The  man  who  made 
dm  this  answer  would  have  done  better  had  he 
ipened  his  ears  to  good  advice ;  for  when  the 
>iedici  returned,  he  was  beheaded,  whereas  he 
Qight  have  kept  himself  alive.  When  Michel- 
ngelo  perceived  how  little  his  words  were  worth, 
,nd  in  what  certain  peril  the  city  stood,  he  caused 
>ne  of  the  gates  to  be  opened,  by  the  authority 
j^hich  he  possessed,  and  went  forth  with  two  of  his 
omrades,  and  took  the  road  for  Venice." 

As  usual  with  Condivi,  this  paragraph  gives  a 
[eneral  and  yet  substantially  accurate  account  of 
irhat  really  took  place.  The  decisive  document, 
Lowever,  which  throws  light  upon  Michelangelo's 
aind  in  the  transaction,  is  a  letter  written  by  him 
rom  Venice  to  his  friend  Battista  della  Palla  on  the 
5th  of  September.  Palla,  who  was  an  agent  for 
'rancis  I.  in  works  of  Italian  art,  antiques,  and  bric- 

brac,  had  long  purposed  a  journey  into  France; 
ad  Michelangelo,  considering  the  miserable  state  of 
kalian  politics,  agreed  to  join  him.  These  explana- 
ons  will  suffice  to  make  the  import  of  Michel- 
igelo's  letter  clear.  ^ 

"Battista,  dearest  friend,  I  left  Florence,  as  I 
link  you  know,  meaning  to  go  to  France.     When 

^  Lettere,  No.  cdvi. 
VOL.  t,  2  p 


4i8  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

I  reached  Venice,  I  inquired  about  the  road,  an 
they  told  me  I  should  have  to  pass  through  Germa 
territory,  and  that  the  journey  is  both  perilous  an 
difficult.  Therefore  I  thought  it  well  to  ask  yoi 
at  your  pleasure,  whether  you  are  still  inclined  to  g 
and  to  beg  you ;  and  so  I  entreat  you,  let  me  knov 
and  say  where  you  want  me  to  wait  for  you,  an 
we  will  travel  together.  I  left  home  without  speal 
ing  to  any  of  my  friends,  and  in  great  confusioi 
You  know  that  I  wanted  in  any  case  to  go  i 
France,  and  often  asked  for  leave,  but  did  not  g 
it.  Nevertheless  I  was  quite  resolved,  and  withoi 
any  sort  of  fear,  to  see  the  end  of  the  war  out  firs 
But  on  Tuesday  morning,  September  21,  a  certai 
person  came  out  by  the  gate  at  S.  Nicolb,  whei 
I  was  attending  to  the  bastions,  and  whispered  i 
my  ear  that,  if  I  meant  to  save  my  life,  I  must  n< 
stay  at  Florence.  He  accompanied  me  home,  dine 
there,  brought  me  horses,  and  never  left  my  side  ti 
he  got  me  outside  the  city,  declaring  that  this  wj 
my  salvation.  Whether  God  or  the  devil  was  tl  \^ 
man,  I  do  not  know. 

"  Pray  answer  the  questions  in  this  letter  as  so( 
as  possible,  because  I  am  burning  with  impatien 
to  set  out.     If  you  have  changed  your  mind,  and  ( 
not  care  to  go,  still  let  me  know,  so  that  I  may  pr  ^^ 
vide  as  best  I  can  for  my  own  journey." 

What  appears  manifest   from   this    document 
that  Michelangelo  was  decoyed  away  from  Floren 
by  some  one,  who,  acting  on  his  sensitive  nerve 


5011] 


BAGLIONI'S   TREASON.  419 

!  temperament,  persuaded  him  that  his  life  was  in 
^danger.  Who  the  man  was  we  do  not  know,  but 
!he  must  have  been  a  person  delegated  by  those  who 
jhad  a  direct  interest  in  removing  Buonarroti  from 
fthe  place.  If  the  controller-general  of  the  defences 
'already  scented  treason  in  the  air,  and  was  com- 
municating his  suspicions  to  the  Signory,  Malatesta 
Baglioni,  the  arch-traitor,  who  afterwards  delivered 
Florence  over  for  a  price  to  Clement,  could  not  but 
have  wished  to  frighten  him  away. 

From  another  of  Michelangelo^s  letters  we  learn 
that  he  carried  3000  ducats  in  specie  with  him  on 
the  journey.^  It  is  unlikely  that  he  could  have 
iisposed  so  much  cash  upon  his  person.  He  must 
lave  had  companions. 

Talking  with  Michelangelo  in  1 549 — that  is,  twenty 
^ears  after  the  event — Busini  heard  from  his  lips  this 
iccount  of  the  flight.^  *'  I  asked  Michelangelo  what 
vas  the  reason  of  his  departure  from  Florence.  He 
ipoke  as  follows :  *  I  was  one  of  the  Nine  when 
he  Florentine  troops  mustered  within  our  lines 
mder  Malatesta  Baglioni  and  Mario  Orsini  and  the 
ther  generals :  whereupon  the  Ten  distributed  the 
Qen  along  the  walls  and  bastions,  assigning  to  each 
aptain  his  own  post,  with  victuals  and  provisions ; 
,nd  among  the  rest,  they  gave  eight  pieces  of 
rtillery  to  Malatesta  for  the  defence  of  part  of 
he  bastions  at  S.  Miniato.  He  did  not,  however, 
lount  these   guns  within   the  bastions,  but  below 

^  Lettere,  No.  cdvii.  ^  Busini,  p.  104. 


420  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

them,  and  set  no  guard/  Michelangelo,  as  archi 
tect  and  magistrate,  having  to  inspect  the  lines  a 
S.  Miniato,  asked  Mario  Orsini  how  it  was  tha 
Malatesta  treated  his  artillery  so  carelessly.  Th 
latter  answered :  '  You  must  know  that  the  men  c 
his  house  are  all  traitors,  and  in  time  he  too  wil 
betray  this  town.'  These  words  inspired  him  wit: 
such  terror  that  he  was  obliged  to  fly,  impelled  b 
dread  lest  the  city  should  come  to  misfortune,  an^ 
he  together  with  it.  Having  thus  resolved,  h 
found  Rinaldo  Corsini,  to  whom  he  communicate 
his  thoughts,  and  Corsini  replied  lightly  :  *  I  will  g 
with  you.'  So  they  mounted  horse  with  a  sum  c 
money,  and  rode  to  the  Gate  of  Justice,  where  th 
guards  would  not  let  them  pass.  While  waitini 
there,  some  one  sung  out :  *  Let  him  by,  for  he  i 
of  the  Nine,  and  it  is  Michelangelo.'  So  they  wen 
forth,  three  on  horseback,  he,  Rinaldo,  and  tha 
man  of  his  who  never  left  him.-^  They  came  t 
Castelnuovo  (in  the  Garfagnana),  and  heard  tha 
Tommaso  Soderini  and  Niccolb  Capponi  were  stay 
ing  there.^  Michelangelo  refused  to  go  and  se 
them,  but  Rinaldo  went,  and  when  he  came  bad 
to  Florence,  as  I  shall  relate,  he  reported  hoi 
Niccol6  had  said  to  him :  *  O  Rinaldo,  I  dreame 
to-night  that  Lorenzo  Zampalochi  had  been  mad 
Gonfalonier ; '  alluding  to  Lorenzo  Giacomini,  wh 
had  a  swollen  leg,  and  had  been  his  adversary  ii 

1  Probably  Antonio  Mini  is  meant. 

*  They  had  recently  left  Florence  as  exiles. 


JOURNEY   TO   VENICE.  421 

the  Ten.  Well,  they  took  the  road  for  Venice; 
but  when  they  came  to  Polesella,  E-inaldo  proposed 
to  push  on  to  Ferrara  and  have  an  interview  with 
Galeotto  Giugni.^  This  he  did,  and  Michelangelo 
\  awaited  him,  for  so  he  promised.  Messer  Galeotto, 
I  who  was  spirited  and  sound  of  heart,  wrought  so 
with  Rinaldo  that  he  persuaded  him  to  turn  back 
to  Florence.  But  Michelangelo  pursued  his  journey 
to  Venice,  where  he  took  a  house,  intending  in  due 
season  to  travel  into  France." 

Varchi  follows  this  report  pretty  closely,  except 
that  he  represents  Rinaldo  Corsini  as  having  strongly 
urged  him  to  take  flight,  "  affirming  that  the  city  in 
a  few  hours,  not  to  say  days,  would  be  in  the  hands 
of  the  Medici."  ^  Varchi  adds  that  Antonio  Mini 
rode  in  company  with  Michelangelo,  and,  according 
to  his  account  of  the  matter,  the  three  men  came 
together  to  Ferrara.  There  the  Duke  offered  hospi- 
tality to  Michelangelo,  who  refused  to  exchange  his 
inn  for  the  palace,  but  laid  all  the  cash  he  carried 
with  him  at  the  disposition  of  his  Excellency. 

Segni,  alluding  briefly  to  this  flight  of  Michel- 
angelo from  Florence,  says  that  he  arrived  at  Castel- 
auovo  with  Rinaldo  Corsini,  and  that  what  they 
communicated  to  Niccolb  Capponi  concerning  the 
treachery  of  Malatesta  and  the  state  of  the  city,  so 
iffected  the  ex- Gonfalonier  that  he  died  of  a  fever 
ifter  seven  days.^     Nardi,  an  excellent  authority  on 

1  The  Florentine  envoy  there.        ^  Varchi,  /sior.  Fior.^  vol.  ii  p.  133. 
3  Istorie  Fiorentini.     Firenze:  Barbara,  1857,  p.  137. 


422  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

all  that  concerns  Florence  during  the  siege,  con 
firms  the  account  that  Michelangelo  left  his  pos 
together  with  Corsini  under  a  panic ;  *'  by  commo] 
agreement,  or  through  fear  of  war,  as  man's  fragilit 
is  often  wont  to  do."  ^  Vasari,  who  in  his  accoun 
of  this  episode  seems  to  have  had  Varchi's  narrativ 
under  his  eyes,  adds  a  trifle  of  information,  to  th 
effect  that  Michelangelo  was  accompanied  upon  hi 
flight,  not  only  by  Antonio  Mini,  but  also  by  hi 
old  friend  Piloto.^  It  may  be  worth  adding  tha 
while  reading  in  the  Archivio  Buonarroti,  I  dig 
covered  two  letters  from  a  friend  named  Pier 
Paesano  addressed  to  Michelangelo  on  January  ] 
1530,  and  April  21,  1532,  both  of  which  speak  c 
his  having  "  fled  from  Florence."  The  earlier  plainl 
says:  **I  heard  from  Santi  Quattro  (the  Cardina 
probably)  that  you  have  left  Florence  in  order  t 
escape  from  the  annoyance  and  also  from  the  ev: 
fortune  of  the  war  in  which  the  country  is  engaged. 
These  letters,  which  have  not  been  edited,  and  th 
first  of  which  is  important,  since  it  was  sent  t 
Michelangelo  in  Florence,  help  to  prove  that  Miche 
angelo's  friends  believed  he  had  run  away  froi 
Florence.^ 

^  Istorie  delta  Gittd  di  Firenze.     Firenze  :  Le  Monnier,  vol.  ii.  p.  1 5c 

2  Vasari,  xii.  209.     He  says  the  sum  of  money  carried  was  12,0c 

crowns.     Varchi  calls  them  I2,cxx)  florins.     Michelangelo  himself  mei 

tions  3000  ducats. 

^  Arch.  Buon.,  God.  x.  587-588.  Paesano  writes  his  first  letter  fro 
Regentia,  January  i,  1530.  He  addresses  Michelangelo  as  "Caro  Con 
pare,"  and  after  some  preliminaries,  in  which  he  says  that  his  affair 
have  taken  him  to  Bologna,  he  proceeds  :  "  Ho  inteso  da  Santi  Quatti 


THE   RICORDO   DATED   SEPTEMBER    lo.      423 

It  was  necessary  to  enter  into  these  particulars, 

I  partly  in  order  that  the  reader  may  form  his  own 

judgment  of  the  motives  which  prompted  Michel- 

I  angelo  to  desert  his  official  post  at  Florence,  and 

(  partly  because  we  have  now  to  consider  the  Ricordo 

above  mentioned,  with  the  puzzling  date,  September 

10.^     This  document  is  a  note  of  expenses  incurred 

ij|  during  a  residence  of  fourteen  days  at  Venice.     It 

j  runs  as  follows : — 

**  Honoured  Sir.  In  Venice,  this  tenth  day  of 
September.  .  .  .  Ten  ducats  to  Rinaldo  Corsini. 
Five  ducats  to  Messer  Loredan  for  the  rent  of 
the  house.  Seventeen  lire  for  the  stockings  of 
Antonio  (Mini,  perhaps).  For  two  stools,  a  table 
to  eat  on,  and  a  coffer,  half  a  ducat.  Eight  soldi 
for  straw.  Forty  soldi  for  the  hire  of  the  bed.  Ten 
lire  to  the  man  (/ante)  who  came  from  Florence. 
Three  ducats  to  Bondino  for  the  journey  to  Venice 
with  boats.  Twenty  soldi  to  Piloto  for  a  pair  of 
shoes.  Fourteen  days'  board  in  Venice,  twenty 
lire." 

It  has  been  argued  from  the  date  of  the  unfinished 

che  voi  vi  siete  partito  da  Fiorenza  per  fugire  al  fastido  et  ancora  la 
mala  fortuna  della  guerra  del  paese."  He  then  offers  him  free  quarters 
in  his  own  house,  wherever  that  was,  so  long  as  Michelangelo  chose  to 
stay  with  him.  It  appears  that  this  letter  was  not  answered,  for  on 
the  2ist  of  April  1532  Paesano  writes  again,  this  time  from  Argento, 
to  his  "  Compare  Carissimo,"  saying  that  he  wishes  to  remind  him  that 
his  old  friend  is  still  alive.  He  then  refers  to  the  former  letter: 
"Essendo  io  a  Bologna  per  visitare  Santi  Quattro,  et  lui  mi  disse  che 
voi  eravate  fugito  di  fiorenza  et  andato  a  Venezia  et  io  scrissi  una  lettera 
a  Venezia." 
^  Lettere,  p.  601. 


424  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

letter  below  which  these  items  are  jotted  down 
that  Michelangelo  must  have  been  in  Venice  earl] 
in  September,  before  his  flight  from  Florence  at  the 
end  of  that  month.  But  whatever  weight  we  ma) 
attach  to  this  single  date,  there  is  no  corroborative 
proof  that  he  travelled  twice  to  Venice,  and  every 
thing  in  the  Ricordo  indicates  that  it  refers  to  the 
period  of  his  flight  from  Florence.  The  sum  paid  tc 
Corsini  comes  first,  because  it  must  have  been  dis- 
bursed when  that  man  broke  the  journey  at  Ferrara 
Antonio  Mini  and  Piloto  are  both  mentioned:  8 
house  has  been  engaged,  and  furnished  with  Michel 
angelo's  usual  frugality,  as  though  he  contemplatee 
a  residence  of  some  duration.  All  this  confirm* 
Busini,  Varchi,  Segni,  Nardi,  and  Vasari  in  the 
general  outlines  of  their  reports.  I  am  of  opinion 
that,  unassisted  by  further  evidence,  the  Ricordo,  ii 
spite  of  its  date,  will  not  bear  out  Gotti's  view  thai 
Michelangelo  sought  Venice  on  a  privy  mission  a1 
the  end  of  August   1529.^    He  was  not  likely  tc 

1  See  Gotti,  vol.  i,  p.  189.  I  have  examined  the  original  docuroem 
in  the  Archivio  Buonarroti.  The  date  is  certainly  correctly  given  bj 
Gotti.  The  unfinished  letter  runs  thus :  "  Ho^®  mio  maggiore  ir 
Vinegia  oggi  questo  di  dieci  di  secte.''  Michelangelo  sometimes  spell 
the  month  September  thus — Sectemhre.  I  found  an  instance  of  it 
in  the  Codex  Vaticanus  of  the  Bime.  The  date  may  possibly  have 
contained  the  error  of  September,  when  Michelangelo  wished  to  write 
October,  and  for  this  reason  the  word  Secte  may  not  have  been  finished* 
That  the  letter  was  begun  and  flung  aside  for  some  reason  seems  certain 
Perhaps  he  preferred  to  re-write  the  proper  date,  October  lo,  and  kept 
the  discarded  rough  copy  by  him.  His  Ricordi  are  frequently  jotted 
upon  backs  of  drawings,  and  any  pieces  of  paper  which  came  to  hand, 
1  ought  to  add  that  Signor  Gotti  has  somewhat  confused  the  evidence 


SOJOURN  AT  VENICE.  425 

have  been  employed  as  ambassador  extraordinary; 
the  Signory  required  his  services  at  home  ;  and  after 
Eerrara,  Venice  had  little  of  importance  to  show  the 
controller-general  of  defences  in  the  way  of  earth- 
works and  bastions. 


IV. 

Varchi  says  that  Michelangelo,  when  he  reached 
Venice,  ''wishing  to  avoid  visits  and  ceremonies, 
of  which  he  was  the  greatest  enemy,  and  in  order 
to  live  alone,  according  to  his  custom,  far  away  from 
company,  retired  quietly  to  the  Giudecca;  but  the 
Signory,  unable  to  ignore  the  advent  of  so  eminent 
a  man,  sent  two  of  their  first  noblemen  to  visit  him 

of  the  Ricordo  by  inserting  after  the  words  "Died  lire  al  fante  che 
venne  da  Firenze  "  the  followiug  in  brackets :  "  (Bastiano  Scarpellino)." 
Now  there  is  nothing  about  Bastiano  Scarpellino  in  the  autograph. 

The  main  argument  against  the  view  I  have  expressed  above  is 
Michelangelo's  own  statement  in  his  letter  to  Palla,  "  lo  parti'  senza 
far  motto  a  messuno  degli  amici  mia."  Gotti  and  others  think  this  in- 
compatible with  Corsini's  and  Piloto's  participation  in  the  flight  from 
Venice.  But,  in  the  troubled  state  of  the  city,  it  may  have  been  prudent 
to  mention  no  names.  Besides,  Corsini's  and  Piloto's  presence  in  Venice, 
supposing  Michelangelo  went  there  on  a  secret  mission  in  August,  would 
have  been,  to  say  the  least,  superfluous.  Michelangelo's  circumstantial 
account  of  his  flight  was  certainly  given  to  Busini  in  1549 — that  is, 
twenty  years  after  the  event.  But  he  is  not  likely  to  have  forgotten 
the  secret  mission  of  August,  if  that  really  took  place,  or  to  have  con- 
fused this  with  the  flight  in  September.  It  must  furthermore  be 
remembered  that  Corsini  and  Piloto  were  prominent  personages  in 
Florentine  society.  Things  recorded  of  them  by  contemporaries — Varchi, 
Segni,  Nardi,  Vasari — cannot  have  rested  upon  wholly  false  evidence. 


426  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

in  the  name  of  the  K-epublic,  and  to  offer  kindly  all 
things  which  either  he  or  any  persons  of  his  train 
might  stand  in  need  of.  This  public  compliment 
set  forth  the  greatness  of  his  fame  as  artist,  and 
showed  in  what  esteem  the  arts  are  held  by  their 
magnificent  and  most  illustrious  lordships."  ^  Vasari 
adds  that  the  Doge,  whom  he  calls  Gritti,  gave  him 
commission  to  design  a  bridge  for  the  Eialto,  mar- 
vellous alike  in  its  construction  and  its  ornament.^ 

Meanwhile  the  Signory  of  Florence  issued  a  decree 
of  outlawry  against  thirteen  citizens  who  had  quitted 
the  territory  without  leave.  It  was  promulgated  on 
the  30th  of  September,  and  threatened  them  with 
extreme  penalties  if  they  failed  to  appear  before  the 
8th  of  October.^  On  the  7th  of  October  a  second 
decree  was  published,  confiscating  the  property  of 
numerous  exiles.  But  this  document  does  not  con- 
tain the  name  of  Michelangelo ;  and  by  a  third 
decree,  dated  November  16,  it  appears  that  the 
Government  were  satisfied  with  depriving  him  of 
his  office  and  stopping  his  pay.*  We  gather  indeed, 
from  what  Condi vi  and  Varchi  relate,  that  they 
displayed  great  eagerness  to  get  him  back,  and  cor- 
responded to  this  intent  with  their  envoy  at  Ferrara. 
Michelangelo's  flight  from  Florence  seemed  a  matter 
of  sufficient  importance  to  be  included  in  the  des- 

^  Varchi,  ii.  133. 

*  Vasari,  xii.  211.     Andrea  Gritti  died  in  1528,  and  was  succeeded 
by  Pietro  Lando. 

*  Gotti,  ii.  63.  *  Gotti,  vol.  i.  p.  193. 


SENTENCE   OF   OUTLAWRY.  427 

patches  of  the  French  ambassador  resident  at  Venice. 
Lazare  de  Baif,  knowing  his  master's  desire  to  engage 
the  services  of  the  great  sculptor,  and  being  pro- 
bably informed  of  Buonarroti's  own  wish  to  retire 
to  France,  wrote  several  letters  in  the  month  of 
October,  telling  Francis  that  Michelangelo  might 
be  easily  persuaded  to  join  his  court/  We  do  not 
know,  however,  whether  the  King  acted  on  this 
hint. 

His  friends  at  home  took  the  precaution  of  secur- 
ing his  effects,  fearing  that  a  decree  for  their  con- 
fiscation might  be  issued.  We  possess  a  schedule 
of  wine,  wheat,  and  furniture  found  in  his  house, 
and  handed  over  by  the  servant  Caterina  to  his  old 
friend  Francesco  Granacci  for  safe  keeping.^  They 
also  did  their  best  to  persuade  Michelangelo  that  he 
ought  to  take  measures  for  returning  under  a  safe- 
conduct.  Galeotto  Giugni  wrote  upon  this  subject 
to  the  War  Office,  under  date  October  13,  from 
Ferrara.^  He  says  that  Michelangelo  has  begged 
him  to  intercede  in  his  favour,  and  that  he  is  will- 
ing to  return  and  lay  himself  at  the  feet  of  their 
lordships.  In  answer  to  this  despatch,  news  was 
sent  to  Giugni  on  the  20th  that  the  Signory  had 
signed  a  safe-conduct  for  Buonarroti.*  On  the  22nd 
Granacci  paid  Sebastiano  di  Francesco,  a  stone- 
cutter, to  whom  Michelangelo  was  much  attached, 

1  IJCEuvre  et  la  Vie,  p.  275. 

2  Gotti,  ii.  y^.    It  bears  date  October  12. 

3  Gaye,  ii.  209.  *  Ibid.,  p.  210. 


428  LIFE  OF   MICHELANGELO. 

money  for  his  journey  to  Venice.^  It  appears  that 
this  man  set  out  upon  the  23rd,  carrying  letters 
from  Giovan  Battista  della  Palla,  who  had  now 
renounced  all  intention  of  retiring  to  France,  and 
was  enthusiastically  engaged  in  the  defence  of 
Florence.  On  the  return  of  the  Medici,  Palla  was 
imprisoned  in  the  castle  of  Pisa,  and  paid  the 
penalty  of  his  patriotism  by  death. ^  A  second 
letter  which  he  wrote  to  Michelangelo  on  this  occa- 
sion deserves  to  be  translated,  since  it  proves  the 
high  spirit  with  which  the  citizens  of  Florence 
were  now  awaiting  the  approach  of  the  Prince  of 
Orange  and  his  veteran  army.^  "  Yesterday  I  sent 
you  a  letter,  together  with  ten  from  other  friends, 
and  the  safe-conduct  granted  by  the  Signory  for  the 
whole  month  of  November,  and  though  I  feel  sure 
that  it  will  reach  you  safely,  I  take  the  precaution 
of  enclosing  a  copy  under  this  cover.  I  need  hardly 
repeat  what  I  wrote  at  great  length  in  my  last,  nor 
shall  I  have  recourse  to  friends  for  the  same  purpose. 
They  all  of  them,  I  know,  with  one  voice,  without 
the  least  disagreement  or  hesitation,  have  exhorted 
you,  immediately  upon  the  receipt  of  their  letters 
and  the  safe- conduct,  to  return  home,  in  order  to 
preserve  your  life,  your  country,  your  friends,  your 

1  Ricordo  quoted  above  in  Gotti,  ii.  7^. 

2  Varchi,  ii.  397.  "Trovossi  anch'  egli  una  mattina  morto  nella 
prigione,  dubitandosi  che  non  dovesse  esser  chiesto  di  francia." 

3  Gotti,  i.  195.  The  letter  is  in  the  Archivio  Buonarroti,  God.  vii. 
No.  199,  It  is  not  quite  accurately  given  by  Gotti,  the  word  jixa 
having  been  misread  into  pigra^  and  so  forth. 


BATTISTA  BELLA  PALLA.        429 

honour,  and  your  property,  and  also  to  enjoy  those 
times  so  earnestly  desired  and  hoped  for  by  you/ 
If  any  one  had  foretold  that  I  could  listen  without 
the  least  affright  to  news  of  an  invading  army  march- 
ing on  our  walls,  this  would  have  seemed  to  me  im- 
possible. And  yet  I  now  assure  you  that  I  am  not 
only  quite  fearless,  but  also  full  of  confidence  in  a 
glorious  victory.  For  many  days  past  my  soul  has 
been  filled  with  such  gladness,  that  if  God,  either 
for  our  sins  or  for  some  other  reason,  according  to 
the  mysteries  of  His  just  judgment,  does  not  permit 
that  army  to  be  broken  in  our  hands,  my  sorrow  will 
be  the  same  as  when  one  loses,  not  a  good  thing 
hoped  for,  but  one  gained  and  captured.  To  such 
an  extent  am  I  convinced  in  my  fixed  imagination 
of  our  success,  and  have  put  it  to  my  capital  account. 
I  already  foresee  our  militia  system,  established 
on  a  permanent  basis,  and  combined  with  that  of 
the  territory,  carrying  our  city  to  the  skies.^  I  con- 
template a  fortification  of  Florence,  not  temporary, 
as  it  now  is,  but  with  walls  and  bastions  to  be  built 
hereafter.  The  principal  and  most  difiicult  step  has 
been  already  taken ;  the  whole  space  round  the 
town  swept  clean,  without  regard  for  churches  or 
for  monasteries,  in  accordance  with  the  public  need. 
I  contemplate  in  these  our  fellow-citizens  a  noble 
spirit  of  disdain  for  all  their  losses  and  the  bygone 

1  Probably  the  freedom  of  the  Kepublic. 

2  This  milizia  had  been  established    on   the    lines    suggested  by 
Machiavelii. 


430  LIFE   OF  MICHELANGELO. 

luxuries  of  villa-life  ;  an  admirable  unity  and  fervour 
for  the  preservation  of  liberty ;  fear  of  God  alone  ; 
confidence  in  Him  and  in  the  justice  of  our  cause ; 
innumerable  other  good  things,  certain  to  bring  again 
the  age  of  gold,  and  which  I  hope  sincerely  you 
will  enjoy  in  company  with  all  of  us  who  are  your 
friends.  For  all  these  reasons,  I  most  earnestly 
entreat  you,  from  the  depth  of  my  heart,  to  come  at 
once  and  travel  through  Lucca,  where  I  will  meet 
you,  and  attend  you  with  due  form  and  ceremony 
until  here :  such  is  my  intense  desire  that  our 
country  should  not  lose  you,  nor  you  her.  If,  after 
your  arrival  at  Lucca,  you  should  by  some  accident 
fail  to  find  me,  and  you  should  not  care  to  come  to 
Florence  without  my  company,  write  a  word,  I  beg. 
I  will  set  out  at  once,  for  I  feel  sure  that  I  shall  get 
permission.  .  .  .  God,  by  His  goodness,  keep  you 
in  good  health,  and  bring  you  back  to  us  safe  and 
happy." 

Michelangelo  set  forth  upon  his  journey  soon 
after  the  receipt  of  this  letter.  He  was  in  Ferrara 
on  the  9th  of  November,  as  appears  from  a  des- 
patch written  by  Galeotto  Giugni,  recommending 
him  to  the  Government  of  Florence.^  Letters  patent 
under  the  seal  of  the  Duke  secured  him  free  pas- 
sage through  the  city  of  Modena  and  the  province  of 
Garfagnana.^     In  spite  of  these  accommodations,  he 

1  Gaye,  ii.  212. 

2  Under  date  November  10.      The  safe-conduct  lasted  fifteen  days. 
See  Gotti,  ii.  74. 


RETURN   TO   FLORENCE.  431 

seems  to  have  met  with  difficulties  on  the  way, 
owing  to  the  disturbed  state  of  the  country.  His 
friend  Giovan  Battista  Palla  was  waiting  for  him  at 
Lucca,  without  information  of  his  movements,  up 
to  the  1 8th  of  the  month.  He  had  left  Florence  on 
the  nth,  and  spent  the  week  at  Pisa  and  Lucca, 
expecting  news  in  vain.  Then,  "with  one  foot  in 
the  stirrup,"  as  he  says,  "the  license  granted  by 
the  Signory"  having  expired,  he  sends  another  mis- 
sive to  Venice,  urging  Michelangelo  not  to  delay 
a  day  longer.^  "  As  I  cannot  persuade  myself  that 
you  do  not  intend  to  come,  I  urgently  request  you  to 
reflect,  if  you  have  not  already  started,  that  the  pro- 
perty of  those  who  incurred  outlawry  with  you  is 
being  sold,  and  if  you  do  not  arrive  within  the  term 
conceded  by  your  safe-conduct — that  is,  during  this 
month — the  same  will  happen  to  yourself,  without 
the  possibility  of  any  mitigation.  If  you  do  come, 
as  I  still  hope  and  firmly  believe,  speak  with  my 
honoured  friend  Messer  Filippo  Calandrini  here,  to 
whom  I  have  given  directions  for  your  attendance 
from  this  town  without  trouble  to  yourself.  God 
keep  you  safe  from  harm,  and  grant  we  see  you 
shortly  in  our  country,  by  His  aid,  victorious." 

With  this  letter,  Palla,  who  was  certainly  a  good 
friend  to  the  wayward  artist,  and  an  amiable  man  to 
boot,  disappears  out  of  this  history.  At  some  time 
about  the  20th  of  November,  Michelangelo  returned 

1  Gotti,  ii.  72  ;  Arch.  Buon.,  Cod.  vii.  200.  I  shall  print  the  original 
in  the  Appendix. 


432  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

to  Florence.  We  do  not  know  how  he  finished  the 
journey,  and  how  he  was  received ;  but  the  sentence 
of  outlawry  was  commuted,  on  the  23rd,  into  exclu- 
sion from  the  Grand  Council  for  three  years.^  He 
set  to  work  immediately  at  S.  Miniato,  strengthen- 
ing the  bastions,  and  turning  the  church-tower  into 
a  station  for  sharpshooters.^  Florence  by  this  time 
had  lost  all  her  territory  except  a  few  strong 
places,  Pisa,  Livorno,  Arezzo,  Empoli,  Volterra.^  The 
Emperor  Charles  V.  signed  her  liberties  away  to 
Clement  by  the  peace  of  Barcelona  (June  20,  1529), 
and  the  Republic  was  now  destined  to  be  the  appan- 
age of  his  illegitimate  daughter  in  marriage  with  the 
bastard  Alessandro  de'  Medici.  It  only  remained 
for  the  army  of  the  Prince  of  Orange  to  reduce  the 
city.  When  Michelangelo  arrived,  the  Imperial 
troops  were  leaguered  on  the  heights  above  the  town. 
The  inevitable  end  of  the  unequal  struggle  could 
be  plainly  foreseen  by  those  who  had  not  Palla's 
enthusiasm  to  sustain  their  faith.  In  spite  of 
Ferrucci's  genius  and  spirit,  in  spite  of  the  good- will 
of  the  citizens,  Florence  was  bound  to  fall.  While 
admitting  that  Michelangelo  abandoned  his  post  in 
a  moment  of  panic,  we  must  do  him  the  justice 
of  remembering  that  he  resumed  it  when  all  his 
darkest  prognostications  were  being  slowly  but  surely 

1  Gaye,  ii.  214. 

2  This,  at  any  rate,  is  the  tradition  of  his  earlier  biographers.  We 
have  some  reason,  however,  to  doubt  whether  he  was  actively  employed 
to  any  very  great  extent  alter  his  return,  m 

3  Varchi,  ii.  195.  H 


DEFENCES   AT   S.    MINIATO.  433 

realised.  The  worst  was  that  his  old  enemy,  Mala- 
testa  Baglioni,  had  now  opened  a  regular  system  of 
intrigue  with  Clement  and  the  Prince  of  Orange, 
terminating  in  the  treasonable  cession  of  the  city. 
It  was  not  until  August  1530  that  Florence  finally 
capitulated.^  Still  the  months  which  intervened 
between  that  date  and  Michelangelo's  return  from 
Venice  were  but  a  dying  close,  a  slow  agony  inter- 
rupted by  spasms  of  ineffectual  heroism. 

In  describing  the  works  at  S.  Miniato,  Condivi 
lays  great  stress  upon  Michelangelo's  plan  for  arm- 
ing the  bell-tower.^  **The  incessant  cannonade  of 
the  enemy  had  broken  it  in  many  places,  and  there 
was  a  serious  risk  that  it  might  come  crashing  down, 
to  the  great  injury  of  the  troops  within  the  bastion. 
He  caused  a  large  number  of  mattresses  well  stuffed 
with  wool  to  be  brought,  and  lowered  these  by  night 
from  the  summit  of  the  tower  down  to  its  founda- 
tions, protecting  those  parts  which  were  exposed  to 
fire.  Inasmuch  as  the  cornice  projected,  the  mat- 
tresses hung  free  in  air,  at  the  distance  of  six 
cubits  from  the  wall ;  so  that  when  the  missiles  of 
the  enemy  arrived,  they  did  little  or  no  damage, 
partly  owing  to  the  distance  they  had  travelled,  and 
partly  to  the  resistance  offered  by  this  swinging, 
j^ielding  panoply."  An  anonymous  writer,  quoted 
by  Milanesi.  gives  a  fairly  intelligible  account  of  the 
system  adopted  by  Michelangelo.^  "  The  outer  walls 
3f  the  bastion  were  composed   of  unbaked  bricks, 

^  Varchi,  ii.  365.  2  Condivi,  p.  48.  ^  Vasari,  xii.  365. 

VOL.  I.  2  J, 


pi 


f 


434  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

the  clay  of  which  was  mingled  with  chopped  tow 
Its  thickness  he  filled  in  with  earth ;  and,"  adds 
this   critic,   "  of  all  the  buildings  which  remained 
this   alone  survived  the  siege."  ^     It  was  objected 
that,  in  designing  these  bastions,  he  multiplied  the 
flanking  lines   and   embrasures   beyond   what  was 
either  necessary  or  safe.     But,  observes  the  anony- 
mous writer,  all  that  his  duty  as  architect  demanded 
was  that  he  should  lay  down  a  plan  consistent  with 
the  nature  of  the  ground,  leaving  details  to  practical  li] 
engineers  and  military  men.^     "  If,  then,  he  com-  m 
mitted  any  errors  in  these  matters,  it  was  not  sc  it 
much  his  fault  as  that   of  the  Government,  whc  {^ 
did  not  provide  him  with  experienced  coadjutors,  fo 
But  how  can  mere  merchants  understand  the  art  oijin 
war,  which  needs  as  much  science  as  any  other  oi 
the  arts,  nay  more,  inasmuch  as  it  is  obviously  more'it 
noble  and  more  perilous  ? "     The  confidence  now  (j 
reposed  in  him  is  further  demonstrated  by  a  license  [\ 
granted  on  the  22nd  of  February  1530,  empowering^] 
him  to  ascend  the  cupola  of  the  Duomo  on  one  1 
special  occasion  with  two  companions,  in  order  tc 
obtain  a  general  survey  of  the  environs  of  Florence.' 

1  Michelangelo's  bastions  were  afterwards  rebuilt  upon  a  permanent 
plan.  Vauban,  wben  he  came  to  Florence,  is  said  to  have  surveyed 
these  works  and  measured  them.  I  shall  print  in  the  Appendix  a  docu- 
ment supplied  me  by  Cav.  Biagi,  which  refers  to  the  wool  used  for  these 
defences. 

2  Compare  what  Varchi,  ii.  147,  says  upon  this  point. 

8  Cesare  Guasti,  La  Cupola  di  S.  M.  del  Firevae,  quoted  by  Gotti, 
i.  197.  The  fact  that  only  a  single  permission  for  a  single  day  was 
granted  has  induced  Springer  to  believe  that,  after  his  return  from 
Venice,  Michelangelo  took  no  prominent  part  in  the  defence  of  Florence. 


! 


FLORENCE   CAPITULATES.  435 

Michelangelo,  in  the  midst  of  these  serious  duties, 
could  not  have  had  much  time  to  bestow  upon  his 
art.  Still  there  is  no  reason  to  doubt  Vasari's  em- 
phatic statement  that  he  went  on  working  secretly 
at  the  Medicean  monuments.^  To  have  done  so 
openly  while  the  city  was  in  conflict  to  the  death 
with  Clement,  would  have  been  dangerous ;  and 
yet  every  one  who  understands  the  artist's  tempera- 
ment must  feel  that  a  man  like  Buonarroti  was 
likely  to  seek  rest  and  distraction  from  painful 
anxieties  in  the  tranquillising  labour  of  the  chisel. 
It  is  also  certain  that,  during  the  last  months  of  the 
siege,  he  found  leisure  to  paint  a  picture  of  Leda 
for  the  Duke  of  Ferrara,  which  will  be  mentioned 
in  its  proper  place. 

Florence  surrendered  in  the  month  of  August 
1530.  The  terms  were  drawn  up  by  Don  Ferrante 
Gonzaga,  who  commanded  the  Imperial  forces  after 
the  death  of  Filiberto,  Prince  of  Orange,  in  concert 
with  the  Pope's  commissary-general,  Baccio  Valori. 
Malatesta  Baglioni,  albeit  he  went  about  muttering 
that  Florence  "  was  no  stable  for  mules "  (alluding 
"to  the  fact  that  all  the  Medici  were  bastards),  ap- 
proved of  the  articles,  and  showed  by  his  conduct 
that  he  had  long  been  plotting  treason.  The  act  of 
capitulation  was  completed  on  the  12  th,  and  accepted 
unwillingly  by  the  Signory.  Valori,  supported  by 
Baglioni' s  military  force,  reigned  supreme  in  the 
city,  and  prepared  to  reinstate  the  exiled  family  of 

^  Vasari,  lii.  207. 


436  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO.  > 

princes.^  It  is  said  that  Marco  Dandolo  of  Venice, 
when  news  reached  the  Pregadi  of  the  fall  of 
Florence,  exclaimed  aloud  :  "  Baglioni  has  put  upon 
his  head  the  cap  of  the  biggest  traitor  upon  record." 


V. 

The  city  was  saved  from  wreckage  by  a  lucky 
quarrel  between  the  Italian  and  Spanish  troops  in 
the  Imperial  camp.  But  no  sooner  was  Clement 
aware  that  Florence  lay  at  his  mercy,  than  he  dis- 
regarded the  articles  of  capitulation,  and  began  to 
act  as  an  autocratic  despot.  Before  confiding  the 
government  to  his  kinsmen,  the  Cardinal  Ippolitol 
and  Alessandro  Duke  of  Penna,  he  made  Valori  in- 
stitute a  series  of  criminal  prosecutions  against  the 
patriots.^  Battista  della  Palla  and  Raffaello  Girolami 
were  sent  to  prison  and  poisoned.  Five  citizens 
were  tortured  and  decapitated  in  one  day  of  October. 
Those  who  had  managed  to  escape  from  Florence 
were  sentenced  to  exile,  outlawry,  and  confiscation 
of  goods  by  hundreds.  Charles  V.  had  finally  to 
interfere  and  put  a  stop  to  the  fury  of  the  Pope's 
revenges.     How  cruel  and  exasperated  the  mind  of 

^  See  Capponi,  op.  dt,  lib.  vi.  cap.   lo.     Compare  Varchi,  ii.  pp. 

373-392. 
2  Varchi,  ii.  396-414.     Whole  pages  are  occupied  by  lists  of  these 

victims  to  Papal  vengeance. 


CLEMENT'S   REVENGE.  437 

Clement  was,  may  be  gathered  from  his  treatment 
of  Fra  Benedetto  da  Foiano,  who  sustained  the  spirit 
of  the  burghers  by  his  fiery  preaching  during  the 
privations  of  the  siege.  Foiano  fell  into  the  clutches 
of  Malatesta  Baglioni,  who  immediately  sent  him 
down  to  Rome.  By  the  Pope's  orders  the  wretched 
friar  was  flung  into  the  worst  dungeon  in  the  Castle 
of  S.  Angelo,  and  there  slowly  starved  to  death 
by  gradual  diminution  of  his  daily  dole  of  bread 
and  water.^  Readers  of  Benvenuto  Cellini's  Memoirs 
will  remember  the  horror  with  which  he  speaks  of 
this  dungeon  and  of  its  dreadful  reminiscences,  when 
it  fell  to  his  lot  to  be  imprisoned  there.^ 

Such  being  the  mood  of  Clement,  it  is  not  wonder- 
ful that  Michelangelo  should  have  trembled  for  his 
own  life  or  liberty.  As  Varchi  says,  **  He  had  been 
a  member  of  the  Nine,  had  fortified  the  hill  and 
armed  the  bell-tower  of  S.  Miniato.  What  was 
more  annoying,  he  was  accused,  though  falsely,  of 
proposing  to  raze  the  palace  of  the  Medici,  where 
in  his  boyhood  Lorenzo  and  Piero  dei  Medici  had 
shown  him  honour  as  a  guest  at  their  own  tables, 
and  to  name  the  space  on  which  it  stood  the  Place 
of  Mules."  ^  For  this  reason  he  hid  himself,  as 
Condivi  and  Varchi  assert,  in  the  house  of  a  trusty 
friend.  The  Senator  Filippo  Buonarroti,  who  dili- 
gently collected  traditions  about  his  illustrious  an- 
cestor, believed  that  his  real  place  of  retreat  was  the 

1  Varchi,  ii.  387.  ^  Cellini,  Book  I.  chap.  cxx. 

3  Varchi,  ii.  399. 


438  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

bell-tower  of  S.  Nicol5,  beyond  the  Arno.^  **  When 
Clement's  fury  abated,"  says  Condivi,  "  he  wrote  to 
Florence  ordering  that  search  should  be  made  for 
Michelangelo,  and  adding  that  when  he  was  found, 
if  he  agreed  to  go  on  working  at  the  Medicean 
monuments,  he  should  be  left  at  liberty  and  treated 
with  due  courtesy.  On  hearing  news  of  this,  Michel- 
angelo came  forth  from  his  hiding-place,  and  re- 
sumed the  statues  in  the  sacristy  of  S.  Lorenzo, 
moved  thereto  more  by  fear  of  the  Pope  than  by 
love  for  the  Medici."  ^  From  correspondence  carried 
on  between  Rome  and  Florence  during  November 
and  December,  we  learn  that  his  former  pension  of 
fifty  crowns  a  month  was  renewed,  and  that  Giovan 
Battista  Figiovanni,  a  Prior  of  S.  Lorenzo,  was  ap-- 
pointed  the  Pope's  agent  and  paymaster.^  ^| 

An  incident  of  some  interest  in  the  art-history 
of  Florence  is  connected  with  this  return  of  the 
Medici,  and  probably  also  with  Clement's  desire  to 
concentrate  Michelangelo's  energies  upon  the  sac- 
risty. So  far  back  as  May  lo,  1508,  Piero  Soderini 
wrote  to  the  Marquis  of  Mas sa- Carrara,  begging  him 
to  retain  a  large  block  of  marble  until  Michelangelo 
could  come  in  person  and  superintend  its  rough- 
hewing  for  a  colossal  statue  to  be  placed  on  the 
Piazza.*  After  the  death  of  Leo,  the  stone  was 
assigned  to   Baccio  Bandinelli ;  but  Michelangelo, 

1  Gotti,  i.  199.  JM 

2  Condivi,  p.  49.     He  adds,  what  is  clearly  wrong,  that  it  was  about" 
fifteen  years  since  Michelangelo  had  used  the  sculptor's  tools. 

3  Gaye,  ii.  221.  *  Ibid.,  ii.  97-98. 


Hercules  and  Cacus. 


THE   HERCULES   AND   CACUS.  439 

being  in  favour  with  the  Government  at  the  time  of 
the  expulsion  of  the  Medici,  obtained  the  grant  of 
it.  His  first  intention,  in  vj^hich  Bandinelli  followed 
him,  was  to  execute  a  Hercules  trampling  upon 
Cacus,  which  should  stand  as  pendant  to  his  own 
David.  By  a  deliberation  of  the  Signory,  under 
date  August  22,  1528,  we  are  informed  that  the 
marble  had  been  brought  to  Florence  about  three 
years  earlier,  and  that  Michelangelo  now  received 
instructions,  couched  in  the  highest  terms  of  com- 
pliment, to  proceed  with  a  group  of  two  figures 
until  its  accomplishment.^  If  Vasari  can  be  trusted, 
Michelangelo  made  numerous  designs  and  models 
for  the  Cacus,  but  afterwards  changed  his  mind,  and 
thought  that  he  would  extract  from  the  block  a 
Samson  triumphing  over  two  prostrate  Philistines.^ 
The  evidence  for  this  change  of  plan  is  not  abso- 
lutely conclusive.  The  deliberation  of  August  22, 
1528,  indeed  left  it  open  to  his  discretion  whether 
he  should  execute  a  Hercules  and  Cacus,  or  any 
other  group  of  two  figures  ;  and  the  English  nation 
at  South  Kensington  possesses  one  of  his  noble  little 
wax  models  for  a  Hercules.^  We  may  perhaps, 
therefore,  assume  that  while  Bandinelli  adhered  to  the 
Hercules  and  Cacus,  Michelangelo  finally  decided  on 
a  Samson.     At  any  rate,  the  block  was  restored  in 

1  Gaye,  ii.  97,  98. 

2  See  Vasari,  Life  of  Bandinelli^  vol.  x.  pp.  305,  306,  311  ;  Life  of 
Pierino  da  Vind,  ibid.,  p.  289. 

3  See  J.  C.  Robinson's  Catalogue  to  the  Italian  Sculpture  at  S.  K., 
pp.  141-144. 


440  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

1530  to  Bandinelli,  who  produced  the  misbegotten 
group  which  still  deforms  the  Florentine  Piazza. 

Michelangelo  had  some  reason  to  be  jealous  of 
Bandinelli,  who  exercised  considerable  influence  at 
the  Medicean  court,  and  was  an  unscrupulous  enemy 
both  in  word  and  deed.  A  man  more  widely  and 
worse  hated  than  Bandinelli  never  lived.  If  any 
piece  of  mischief  happened  which  could  be  fixed 
upon  him  with  the  least  plausibility,  he  bore  the 
blame.  Accordingly,  when  Buonarroti's  workshop 
happened  to  be  broken  open,  people  said  that  Bandi- 
nelli was  the  culprit.  Antonio  Mini  left  the  following 
record  of  the  event :  ^  **  Three  months  before  the 
siege,  Michelangelo's  studio  in  Via  Mozza  was  burst 
into  with  chisels  ;  about  fifty  drawings  of  figures  were 
stolen,  and  among  them  the  designs  for  the  Medicean 
tombs,  with  others  of  great  value ;  also  four  models 
in  wax  and  clay.  The  young  men  who  did  it  left 
by  accident  a  chisel  marked  with  the  letter  M., 
which  led  to  their  discovery.  When  they  knew 
they  were  detected,  they  made  off  or  hid  themselves, 
and  sent  to  say  they  would  return  the  stolen  articles, 
and  begged  for  pardon."  Now  the  chisel  branded 
with  an  M.  was  traced  to  Michelangelo,  the  father 
of  Baccio  Bandinelli,  and  no  one  doubted  that  he 
was  the  burglar. 

The  history  of  Michelangelo's  Leda,  which  now 
survives  only  in  doubtful  reproductions,  may  be  in- 
troduced by  a  passage  from  Condivi's  account  of  his 

1  Gotti,  i.  203. 


THE   LED  A.  441 

master's  visit  to  Ferrara  in  1529/  "The  Duke  re- 
ceived him  with  great  demonstrations  of  joy,  no  less 
by  reason  of  his  eminent  fame  than  because  Don 
Ercole,  his  son,  was  Captain  of  the  Signory  of 
Florence.  Riding  forth  with  him  in  person,  there 
was  nothing  appertaining  to  the  business  of  his 
mission  which  the  Duke  did  not  bring  beneath  his 
notice,  whether  fortifications  or  artillery.  Beside 
this,  he  opened  his  own  private  treasure-room,  dis- 
playing all  its  contents,  and  particularly  some  pic- 
tures and  portraits  of  his  ancestors,  executed  by 
masters  in  their  time  excellent.  When  the  hour 
approached  for  Michelangelo's  departure,  the  Duke 
jestingly  said  to  him  :  *  You  are  my  prisoner  now. 
If  you  want  me  to  let  you  go  free,  I  require  that  you 
shall  promise  to  make  me  something  with  your  own 
hand,  according  to  your  will  and  fancy,  be  it  sculp- 
ture or  painting.'  Michelangelo  agreed ;  and  when 
he  arrived  at  Florence,  albeit  he  was  overwhelmed 
with  work  for  the  defences,  he  began  a  large  piece 
for  a  saloon,  representing  the  congress  of  the  swan 
with  Leda.    The  breaking  of  the  egg  was  also  intro- 

'  duced,  from  which  sprang  Castor  and  Pollux,  accord- 
ing to  the  ancient  fable.  The  Duke  heard  of  this ; 
and  on  the  return  of  the  Medici,  he  feared  that  he 

!  might  lose  so  great  a  treasure  in  the  popular  disturb- 
ance which  ensued.  Accordingly  he  despatched  one 
of  his  gentlemen,  who  found  Michelangelo  at  home, 
and  viewed  the  picture.     After  inspecting  it,  the  man 

^  Condivi,  p.  52. 


442  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 


Ps 


exclaimed :  *  Oh !  this  is  a  mere  trifle.'  Michel- 
angelo inquired  what  his  own  art  was,  being  aware 
that  men  can  only  form  a  proper  judgment  in  the 
arts  they  exercise.  The  other  sneered  and  answered  : 
*  I  am  a  merchant.*  Perhaps  he  felt  aflfronted  at  the 
question,  and  at  not  being  recognised  in  his  quality 
of  nobleman ;  he  may  also  have  meant  to  depreciate 
the  industry  of  the  Florentines,  who  for  the  most 
part  are  occupied  with  trade,  as  though  to  say: 
*You  ask  me  what  my  art  is?  Is  it  possible  you 
think  a  man  like  me  could  be  a  trader  ? '  Michel- 
angelo, perceiving  his  drift,  growled  out :  *  You  are 
doing  bad  business  for  your  lord!  Take  yourself  I e 
away  !  *  Having  thus  dismissed  the  ducal  messenger, 
he  made  a  present  of  the  picture,  after  a  short  while, 
to  one  of  his  serving-men,  who,  having  two  sisters 
to  marry,  begged  for  assistance.  It  was  sent  to 
France,  and  there  bought  by  King  Francis,  where  it 
still  exists." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  we  know  now  that  Antonio 
Mini,  for  a  long  time  Michelangelo's  man  of  all 
work,  became  part  owner  of  this  Leda,  and  took  it 
with  him  to  France.^  A  certain  Francesco  Tedaldi 
acquired  pecuniary  interest  in  the  picture,  of  which 
one  Benedetto  Bene  made  a  copy  at  Lyons  in  1532. 
The  original  and  the  copy  were  carried  by  Mini  to 

^  I  do  not  concur  with  Heath  Wilson's  conclusions  about  the  Leda. 
Michelangelo  probably  gave  it  away  to  Mini  in  a  fit  of  pique  and  gene- 
rosity. The  man  raised  money  on  it  for  his  journey  with  Tedaldi,  and 
80  the  latter  acquired  an  interest  in  it  which  has  thrown  some  light 
upon  its  fate. 


HISTORY   OF   THE   LEDA.  443 


Paris  in  1533,  and  deposited  in  the  house  of  Giu- 
liano  Buonaccorsi,  whence  they  were  transferred  in 
some  obscure  way  to  the  custody  of  Luigi  Alamanni, 
and  finally  passed  into  the  possession  of  the  King. 
Meanwhile,  Antonio  Mini  died,  and  Tedaldi  wrote 
a  record  of  his  losses  and  a  confused  account  of 
money  matters  and  broker  business,  which  he  sent 
to  Michelangelo  in  1540.^  The  Leda  remained  at 
Fontainebleau  till  the  reign  of  Louis  XIII.,  when 
M.  Desnoyers,  Minister  of  State,  ordered  the  picture 
to  be  destroyed  because  of  its  indecency.  Pierre 
Mariette  says  that  this  order  was  not  carried  into 
effect ;  for  the  canvas,  in  a  sadly  mutilated  state,  re- 
appeared some  seven  or  eight  years  before  his  date 
of  writing,  and  was  seen  by  him.  In  spite  of  in- 
juries, he  could  trace  the  hand  of  a  great  master; 
"and  I  confess  that  nothing  I  had  seen  from  the 
brush  of  Michelangelo  showed  better  painting."  He 
adds  that  it  was  restored  by  a  second-rate  artist  and 
sent  to  England.^  What  became  of  Mini's  copy  is 
uncertain.  We  possess  a  painting  in  the  Dresden 
Gallery,  a  Cartoon  in  the  collection  of  the  Royal 
Academy  of  England,  and  a  large  oil  picture, 
much  injured,  in  the  vaults  of  the  National  Gallery.^ 

^  Gotti,  i.  201,  202.  2  Condivi,  p.  185. 

3  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  these  two  great  studies  of  Michelangelo's 
Leda  are  practically  hidden  from  the  public  eye  ;  one  of  them  may  not 
improbably  be  a  contemporary  replica.  The  style  of  the  National 
Gallery  painting,  so  far  as  I  remember  it,  is  superb  in  breadth  and 
grandeur.  The  pose  of  the  woman  and  the  proportions  of  her  adult 
heroic  form  strongly  resemble  those  of  the  "  Notte,"  on  which  marble 
■  Michelangelo  was  working  when  he  designed  her. 


444  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

In  addition  to  these  works,  there  is  a  small  marble r^ 
statue  in  the  Museo  Nazionale  at  Florence.  All  of 
them  represent  Michelangelo's  design.  If  mere  in- 
decency could  justify  Desnoyers  in  his  attempt  to 
destroy  a  masterpiece,  this  picture  deserved  its  fate. 
It  represented  the  act  of  coition  between  a  swan  and 
a  woman  ;  and  though  we  cannot  hold  Michelangelo 
responsible  for  the  repulsive  expression  on  the  face 
of  Leda,  which  relegates  the  marble  of  the  Bargello 
to  a  place  among  pornographic  works  of  art,  there  is 
no  reason  to  suppose  that  the  general  scheme  of  his 
conception  was  abandoned  in  the  copies  made  of  it. 
Michelangelo,  being  a  true  artist,  anxious  only  for 
the  presentation  of  his  subject,  seems  to  have  re« 
mained  indifferent  to  its  moral  quality.  Whether  it 
was  a  crucifixion,  or  a  congress  of  the  swan  with 
Leda,  or  a  rape  of  Ganymede,  or  the  murder  of  Holo- 
fernes  in  his  tent,  or  the  birth  of  Eve,  he  sought  to 
seize  the  central  point  in  the  situation,  and  to  ac- 
centuate its  significance  by  the  inexhaustible  means 
at  his  command  for  giving  plastic  form  to  an  idea. 
Those,  however,  who  have  paid  attention  to  his  work 
will  discover  that  he  always  found  emotional  quality 
corresponding  to  the  nature  of  the  subject.  His 
ways  of  handling  religious  and  mythological  motives 
differ  in  sentiment,  and  both  are  distinguished  from 
his  treatment  of  dramatic  episodes.  The  man's  mind 
made  itself  a  mirror  to  reflect  the  vision  floating  over ' 
it;  he  cared  not  what  that  vision  was,  so  long  as 
he  could  render  it  in  lines  of  plastic  harmony,  and 


THE   APOLLO   FOR  VALORI.  445 

express  the  utmost  of  the  feeling  which  the  theme 
contained. 

Among  the  many  statues  left  unfinished  by  Michel- 
angelo is  one  belonging  to  this  period  of  his  life. 
"  In  order  to  ingratiate  himself  with  Baccio  Valori," 
says  Vasari,  "  he  began  a  statue  of  three  cubits  in 
marble.  It  was  an  Apollo  drawing  a  shaft  from  his 
I  quiver.  This  he  nearly  finished.  It  stands  now  in 
the  chamber  of  the  Prince  of  Florence ;  a  thing  of 
rarest  beauty,  though  not  quite  completed."  ^  This 
noble  piece  of  sculpture  illustrates  the  certainty  and 
freedom  of  the  master's  hand.  Though  the  last 
touches  of  the  chisel  are  lacking,  every  limb  palpi- 
tates and  undulates  with  life.  The  marble  seems  to 
be  growing  into  flesh  beneath  the  hatched  lines 
left  upon  its  surface.  The  pose  of  the  young  god, 
full  of  strength  and  sinewy,  is  no  less  admirable 
for  audacity  than  for  ease  and  freedom.  Whether 
Vasari  was  right  in  his  explanation  of  the  action  of 
this  figure  may  be  considered  more  than  doubtful. 
Were  we  not  accustomed  to  call  it  an  Apollo,  we 
should  rather  be  inclined  to  class  it  with  the  Slaves 
of  the  Louvre,  to  whom  in  feeling  and  design  it 
bears  a  remarkable  resemblance.  Indeed,  it  might 
be  conjectured  with  some  probability  that,  despair- 
ing of  bringing  his  great  design  for  the  tomb  of 
Julius  to  a  conclusion,  he  utilised  one  of  the  projected 
captives  for  his  present  to  the  all-powerful  vizier  of  the 

1  Vasari,  xii.  212.     The  Apollo  is  now  in  the  Bargello.     It  remained 
for  many  years  neglected  in  the  theatre  of  the  Boboli  Gardens. 


446  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

Medicean  tyrants.  It  ought,  in  conclusion,  to  be 
added,  that  there  was  nothing  servile  in  Michel- 
angelo's desire  to  make  Valori  his  friend.  He  had 
accepted  the  political  situation ;  and  we  have  good 
reason,  from  letters  written  at  a  later  date  by  Valori 
from  Rome,  to  believe  that  this  man  took  a  sincere 
interest  in  the  great  artist.  Moreover,  Varchi,  who 
is  singularly  severe  in  his  judgment  on  the  agents 
of  the  Medici,  expressly  states  that  Baccio  Valori 
was  "  less  cruel  than  the  other  Palleschi,  doing  many 
and  notable  services  to  some  persons  out  of  kindly 
feeling,  and  to  others  for  money  (since  he  had  little 
and  spent  much) ;  and  this  he  was  well  able  to  per- 
form, seeing  he  was  then  the  lord  of  Florence,  and 
the  first  citizens  of  the  land  paid  court  to  him  and 
swelled  his  train."  ^ 


VI. 

During  the  siege  Lodovico  Buonarroti  passed  his 
time  at  Pisa.  His  little  grandson,  Lionardo,  the 
sole  male  heir  of  the  family,  was  with  him.  Born 
September  25,  15 19,  the  boy  was  now  exactly 
eleven  years  old,  and  by  his  father's  death  in  1528 
he  had  been  two  years  an  orphan.  Lionardo  was 
ailing,  and  the  old  man  wearied  to  return.  His  two 
sons,  Gismondo  and  Giansimone,  had  promised  tol 

^  Varchi,  ii.  397. 


TROUBLES   ABOUT  TOMB   OF  JULIUS.        447 

fetch  him  home  when  the  country  should  be  safe 
for  travelling.  But  they  delayed  ;  and  at  last,  upon 
the  30th  of  September,  Lodovico  wrote  as  follows  to 
Michelangelo  :  ^  "  Some  time  since  I  directed  a  letter 
to  Gismondo,  from  whom  you  have  probably  learned 
that  I  am  staying  here,  and,  indeed,  too  long ;  for 
the  flight  of  Buonarroto's  pure  soul  to  heaven,  and 
my  own  need  and  earnest  desire  to  come  home, 
and  Nardo's  state  of  health,  all  make  me  restless. 
The  boy  has  been  for  some  days  out  of  health  and 
pining,  and  I  am  anxious  about  him.'*  It  is  pro- 
bable that  some  means  were  found  for  escorting 
them  both  safely  to  Settignano.  We  hear  no  more 
about  Lodovico  till  the  period  of  his  death,  the  date 
of  which  has  not  been  ascertained  with  certainty. 

From  the  autumn  of  1530  on  to  the  end  of  1533 
Michelangelo  worked  at  the  Medicean  monuments. 
His  letters  are  singularly  scanty  during  all  this 
period,  but  we  possess  sufficient  information  from 
other  sources  to  enable  us  to  reconstruct  a  portion 
of  his  life.  What  may  be  called  the  chronic  malady 
of  his  existence,  that  never-ending  worry  with  the 
tomb  of  Julius,  assumed  an  acute  form  again  in  the 
spring  of  1 53 1.  The  correspondence  with  Sebastian© 
del  Piombo,  which  had  been  interrupted  since  1525, 
now  becomes  plentiful,  and  enables  us  to  follow  some 
of  the  steps  which  led  to  the  new  and  solemn  con- 
tract of  May  1532. 

It  is  possible  that  Michelangelo  thought  he  ought 

1  Gotti,  i.  208. 


448  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 


, 


to  go  to  Rome  in  the  beginning  of  the  year.  If  we 
are  right  in  ascribing  a  letter  written  by  Benvenuto 
della  Volpaia  from  Rome  upon  the  i8th  of  January  to 
the  year  1531,  and  not  to  1532,  he  must  have  abeady 
decided  on  this  step.  The  document  is  curious  in 
several  respects.^  **  Yours  of  the  13th  informs  me 
that  you  want  a  room.  I  shall  be  delighted  if  I  can 
be  of  service  to  you  in  this  matter ;  indeed,  it  is 
nothing  in  respect  to  what  I  should  like  to  do  for 
you.  I  can  offer  you  a  chamber  or  two  without 
the  least  inconvenience ;  and  you  could  not  confer 
on  me  a  greater  pleasure  than  by  taking  up  your 
abode  with  me  in  either  of  the  two  places  which  I 
will  now  describe.  His  Holiness  has  placed  me  in 
the  Belvedere,  and  made  me  guardian  there.  To- 
morrow my  things  will  be  carried  thither,  for  a  perma- 
nent establishment ;  and  I  can  place  at  your  disposal 
a  room  with  a  bed  and  everything  you  want.  You 
can  even  enter  by  the  gate  outside  the  city,  which 
opens  into  the  spiral  staircase,  and  reach  your  apart- 
ment and  mine  without  passing  through  Rome. 
From  here  I  can  let  you  into  the  palace,  for  I  keep 
a  key  at  your  service ;  and  what  is  better,  the  Pope 
comes  every  day  to  visit  us.     If  you  decide  on  the 

1  Gotti,  ii.  75.  Benvenuto  was  the  son  of  Lorenzo  della  Volpaia,  the 
famous  mechanician  and  clockmaker  of  Florence.  Gotti  regards  this 
letter  as  belonging  to  1531  ;  but  I  think  it  probable  that  Volpaia  used 
the  Florentine  style,  and  that  it  therefore  belongs  to  1532.  At  any  rate, 
Sebastiano  del  Piombo,  writing  on  February  8,  1532,  mentions  that  he 
has  met  Volpaia,  who  spoke  of  having  prepared  rooms  at  the  Belvedere 
for  Michelangelo.     Les  GorrespoiidantSf  p.  80. 


PROJECTED   VISIT   TO   ROME.  449 

Belvedere,  you  must  let  me  know  the  day  of  your 
departure,  and  about  when  you  will  arrive.  In  that 
case  I  will  take  up  my  post  at  the  spiral  staircase 
of  Bramante,  where  you  will  be  able  to  see  me.  If 
you  wish,  nobody  but  my  brother  and  Mona  Lisabetta 
and  I  shall  know  that  you  are  here,  and  you  shall 
do  just  as  you  please ;  and,  in  short,  I  beg  you 
earnestly  to  choose  this  plan.  Otherwise,  come  to 
the  Borgo  Nuovo,  to  the  houses  which  Volterra  built, 
the  fifth  house  toward  S.  Angelo.  I  have  rented  it 
to  live  there,  and  my  brother  Fruosino  is  also  going 
to  live  and  keep  shop  in  it.  There  you  will  have  a 
room  or  two,  if  you  like,  at  your  disposal.  Please 
yourself,  and  give  the  letter  to  Tommaso  di  Stefano 
Miniatore,  who  will  address  it  to  Messer  Lorenzo  de' 
Medici,  and  I  shall  have  it  quickly. '^^ 

Nothing  came  of  these  proposals.  But  that 
Michelangelo  did  not  abandon  the  idea  of  going  to 
Rome  appears  from  a  letter  of  Sebastiano's  written 
on  the  24th  of  February.^  It  was  the  first  which 
passed  between  the  friends  since  the  terrible  events 
of  1527  and  1530.  For  once,  the  joUity  of  the 
epicurean  friar  has  deserted  him.  He  writes  as 
though  those  awful  months  of  the  sack  of  Eome 
were  still  present  to  his  memory.  "  After  all  those 
trials,  hardships,  and  perils,  God  Almighty  has  left 
us  alive  and  in  health,  by  His  mercy  and  piteous 

^  Tommaso  may  have  been  the  son  of  Michelangelo's  old  servant, 
Stefano  di  Tommaso,  the  miniaturist. 
2  Les  Correspondants,  p.  36. 

VOL.  I.  2  F 


4SO  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 


kindness.  A  thing,  in  sooth,  miraculous,  when  I 
reflect  upon  it ;  wherefore  His  Majesty  be  ever  held 
in  gratitude.  .  .  .  Now,  gossip  mine,  since  we  have 
passed  through  fire  and  water,  and  have  experienced 
things  we  never  dreamed  of,  let  us  thank  God  for 
all ;  and  the  little  remnant  left  to  us  of  life,  may 
we  at  least  employ  it  in  such  peace  as  can  be  had. 
For  of  a  truth,  what  fortune  does  or  does  not  do  is 
of  slight  importance,  seeing  how  scurvy  and  how 
dolorous  she  is.  I  am  brought  to  this,  that  if  the 
universe  should  crumble  round  me,  I  should  not 
care,  but  laugh  at  all.  Menighella  will  inform  you 
what  my  life  is,  how  I  am.^  I  do  not  yet  seem  to 
myself  to  be  the  same  Bastiano  I  was  before  the 
Sack.  I  cannot  yet  get  back  into  my  former  frame 
of  mind."  In  a  postscript  to  this  letter,  eloquent 
by  its  very  naivete,  Sebastiano  says  that  he  sees  no 
reason  for  Michelangelo^s  coming  to  Rome,  except 
it  be  to  look  after  his  house,  which  is  going  to  ruin, 
and  the  workshop  tumbling  to  pieces. 

In  another  letter,  of  April  29,  Sebastiano  repeats 
that  there  is  no  need  for  Michelangelo  to  come 
to  Rome,  if  it  be  only  to  put  himself  right  with 
the  Pope.  Clement  is  sincerely  his  friend,  and  has 
forgiven  the  part  he  played  during  the  siege  of 
Florence.^  He  then  informs  his  gossip  that,  having 
been  lately  at  Pesaro,  he  met  the  painter  Girolamo 

1  Menighella  was  a  painter  from  the  Valdarno,  who  amused  Michel-  j. 
angelo,  as  Topolino  used  to  do,  by  his  oddities  and  buffooneries.    See 
Vasari,  xii.  281. 

2  Les  CorrespondantSf  p.  38.    See  above.  Bljl 


Di 


til 
fci 


k 


NEGOTIATIONS   ABOUT   THE  TOMB.  451 

Genga,  who  promised  to  be  serviceable  in  the  matter 
of  the  tomb  of  Julius.  The  Duke  of  Urbino,  accord- 
ing to  this  man's  account,  was  very  eager  to  see 
it  finished.  **I  replied  that  the  work  was  going 
forward,  but  that  8000  ducats  were  needed  for  its 
completion,  and  we  did  not  know  where  to  get  this 
money.  He  said  that  the  Duke  would  provide,  but 
his  Lordship  was  afraid  of  losing  both  the  ducats  and 
'the  work,  and  was  inclined  to  be  angry.  After  a 
good  deal  of  talking,  he  asked  whether  it  would  not 
he  possible  to  execute  the  tomb  upon  a  reduced 
I  scale,  so  as  to  satisfy  both  parties.  I  answered  that 
you  ought  to  be  consulted."  We  have  reason  to 
infer  from  this  that  the  plan  which  was  finally 
adopted,  of  making  a  mural  monument  with  only 
'a  few  figures  from  the  hand  of  Michelangelo,  had 
already  been  suggested.  In  his  next  letter,  Sebastiano 
'communicates  the  fact  that  he  has  been  appointed 
to  the  office  of  Piombatore ;  '*and  if  you  could  see 
Die  in  my  quality  of  friar,  I  am  sure  you  would 
kugh.  I  am  the  finest  friar  loon  in  Rome."  The 
Duke  of  Urbino's  agent,  Hieronimo  Staccoli,  now 
appears  for  the  first  time  upon  the  stage.  It  was 
ihrough  his  negotiations  that  the  former  contracts 
l*or  the  tomb  of  Julius  were  finally  annulled  and 
ii  new  design  adopted.  Michelangelo  offered,  with 
he  view  of  terminating  all  disputes,  to  complete  the 
aonument  on  a  reduced  scale  at  his  own  cost,  and 
iirthermore  to  disburse  the  sum  of  2000  ducats  in 
ischarge  of  any  claims   the   Delia   Rovere  might 


i 


452  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

have  against  him.^  This  seemed  too  liberal,  and 
when  Clement  was  informed  of  the  project,  he  pro- 
mised to  make  better  terms.  Indeed,  during  the 
course  of  these  negotiations  the  Pope  displayed  the 
greatest  interest  in  Michelangelo's  affairs.^  Staccoli, 
on  the  Duke's  part,  raised  objections  ;  and  Sebastiano 
had  to  remind  him  that,  unless  some  concessions 
were  made,  the  scheme  of  the  tomb  might  fall 
through :  "  for  it  does  not  rain  Michelangelos,  and 
men  could  hardly  be  found  to  preserve  the  work,  far 
less  to  finish  it."  In  course  of  time  the  Duke's  am- 
bassador at  Rome,  Giovan  Maria  della  Porta,  inter 
vened,  and  throughout  the  whole  business  Clemen 
was  consulted  upon  every  detail. 

Sebastiano  kept  up  his  correspondence  through 
the  summer  of  1531.  Meanwhile  the  suspense  and 
anxiety  were  telling  seriously  on  Michelangelo's 
health.  Already  in  June  news  must  have  reached 
Rome  that  his  health  was  breaking  down ;  for 
Clement  sent  word  recommending  him  to  work  less, 
and  to  relax  his  spirits  by  exercise.^  Toward  the 
autumn  he  became  alarmingly  ill.  We  have  a  letter 
from  Paolo  Mini,  the  uncle  of  his  servant  Antonio, 
written  to  Baccio  Valori  on  the  29th  of  September.* 
After  describing  the  beauty  of  two  statues  for  the 
Medicean  tombs,  Mini  says  he  fears  that  **  Michel- 
angelo will  not  live  long,  unless  some  measures  ar 

1  See  Lettere,  No.  cdvii. 

2  See  the  letter  of  June  i6  about  Michelangelo's  health  and  unre*; 
mitting  industry,  and  that  of  July  22.     Les  Gorrespondants,  pp.  50-56.  >j 

^  Ibid.,  p.  50.  *  Gaye,  ii.  229. 


I 


SERIOUS   ILLNESS.  453 

taken  for  his  benefit.  He  works  very  hard,  eats 
little  and  poorly,  and  sleeps  less.  In  fact,  he  is 
afflicted  with  two  kinds  of  disorder,  the  one  in  his 
head,  the  other  in  his  heart.^  Neither  is  incurable, 
since  he  has  a  robust  constitution ;  but  for  the 
good  of  his  head,  he  ought  to  be  restrained  by  our 
Lord  the  Pope  from  working  through  the  winter 
in  the  sacristy,  the  air  of  which  is  bad  for  him  ; 
and  for  his  heart,  the  best  remedy  would  be  if  his 
Holiness  could  accommodate  matters  with  the  Duke 
of  Urbino."  In  a  second  letter,  of  October  8,  Mini 
insists  again  upon  the  necessity  of  freeing  Michel- 
angelo^s  mind  from  his  anxieties.  The  upshot  was 
that  Clement,  on  the  21st  of  November,  addressed 
a  brief  to  his  sculptor,  whereby  Buonarroti  was 
ordered,  under  pain  of  excommunication,  to  lay 
aside  all  work  except  what  was  strictly  necessary 
for  the  Medicean  monuments,  and  to  take  better 
care  of  his  health.^  On  the  26th  of  the  same  month 
Benvenuto  della  Volpaia  wrote,  repeating  what  the 
Pope  had  written  in  his  brief,  and  adding  that  his 
Holiness  desired  him  to  select  some  workshop  more 
convenient  for  his  health  than  the  cold  and  cheer- 
less sacristy.^ 

In  spite  of  Clement's  orders  that  Michelangelo 
should  confine  himself  strictly  to  working  on  the 
Medicean  monuments,  he  continued  to  be  solicited 
with  various  commissions.     Thus  the  Cardinal  Cybo 

^  Mini  mentions  in  particular  headache,  chronic  cold,  and  giddiness. 
2  Bottari,  Lett.  Pitt.^  vi.  54.  3  (jotti,  i.  p.  211. 


454  LIFE   OF  MICHELANGELO. 

wrote  in  December  begging  him  to  furnish  a  design 
for  a  tomb  which  he  intended  to  erect.  Whether 
Michelangelo  consented  is  not  known. 

Early  in  December  Sebastiano  resumed  his  com- 
munications on  the  subject  of  the  tomb  of  Julius, 
saying  that  Michelangelo  must  not  expect  to  satisfy 
the  Duke  without  executing  the  work,  in  part  at 
least,  himself.^  "  There  is  no  one  but  yourself  that 
harms  you :  I  mean,  your  eminent  fame  and  the 
greatness  of  your  works.  I  do  not  say  this  to  flatter 
you.  Therefore,  I  am  of  opinion  that,  without  some 
shadow  of  yourself,  we  shall  never  induce  those 
parties  to  do  what  we  want.  It  seems  to  me  that 
you  might  easily  make  designs  and  models,  and 
afterwards  assign  the  completion  to  any  master 
whom  you  choose.  But  the  shadow  of  yourself ^;j 
there  must  be.  If  you  take  the  matter  in  this  way, 
it  will  be  a  trifle  ;  you  will  do  nothing,  and  seem;; 
to  do  all ;  but  remember  that  the  work  must  be 
carried  out  under  your  shadow." 

A  series  of  despatches,  forwarded  between  De-| 
cember  4,  1531,  and  April  29,  1532,  by  Giovan| 
Maria  della  Porta  to  the  Duke  of  Urbino,  con-ij 
firm  the  particulars  furnished  by  the  letters  which 
Sebastiano  still  continued  to  write  from  Eome.^  At 
the  end  of  1531  Michelangelo  expressed  his  anxiety 
to  visit  Eome,  now  that  the  negotiations  with  the 
Duke  were  nearly  complete.  Sebastiano,  hearing 
this,  replies :    "  You   will   effect   more   in  half  an 

^  Les  GorrespondantSj  p.  74.  ^  gge  Vasari,  xii.  378-383. 


CONTRACT   FOR  THE  TOMB,   1532.  455 

hour  than  I  can  do  in  a  whole  year.  I  believe  that 
you  will  arrange  everything  after  two  words  with 
his  Holiness  ;  for  our  Lord  is  anxious  to  meet  your 
wishes."  ^  He  wanted  to  be  present  at  the  drawing 
up  and  signing  of  the  contract.  Clement,  however, 
although  he  told  Sebastiano  that  he  should  be  glad 
to  see  him,  hesitated  to  send  the  necessary  per- 
mission, and  it  was  not  until  the  month  of  April 
1532  that  he  set  out.  About  the  6th,  as  appears  from 
the  indorsement  of  a  letter  received  in  his  absence, 
he  must  have  reached  Rome.  The  new  contract 
was  not  ready  for  signature  before  the  29th,  and 
on  that  date  Michelangelo  left  for  Florence,  having, 
as  he  says,  been  sent  off  by  the  Pope  in  a  hurry  on 
the  very  day  appointed  for  its  execution.  In  his 
absence  it  was  duly  signed  and  witnessed  before 
Clement ;  the  Cardinals  Gonzaga  and  da  Monte 
and  the  Lady  Felice  della  Rovere  attesting,  while 
Giovan  Maria  della  Porta  and  Girolamo  Staccoli 
acted  for  the  Duke  of  Urbino.  When  Michelangelo 
returned  and  saw  the  instrument,  he  found  that 
several  clauses  prejudicial  to  his  interests  had  been 
inserted  by  the  notary.^  **  I  discovered  more  than 
1000  ducats  charged  unjustly  to  my  debit,  also  the 
house  in  which  I  live,  and  certain  other  hooks  and 
crooks  to  ruin  me.  The  Pope  would  certainly  not 
have  tolerated  this  knavery,  as  Fra  Sebastiano  can 

1  Les  CorrespondanfSy  p.  yS. 

2  Lettere,  No.  cdxxxv.  p.  489.     Written  in  October  1 542,  when  the 
tragedy  of  the  tomb  was  entering  upon  its  final  phase. 


456  LIFE   OF  MICHELANGELO. 

bear  witness,  since  he  wished  me  to  complain  to 
Clement  and  have  the  notary  hanged.  I  swear  I 
never  received  the  moneys  which  Giovan  Maria 
della  Porta  wrote  against  me,  and  caused  to  be 
engrossed  upon  the  contract."  ^  £ 

It  is  difficult  to  understand  why  Michelangelo 
should  not  have  immediately  taken  measures  to 
rectify  these  errors.  He  seems  to  have  been  well 
aware  that  he  was  bound  to  refund  2000  ducats, 
since  the  only  letter  from  his  pen  belonging  to 
the  year  1532  is  one  dated  May,  and  addressed  to 
Andrea  Quarantesi  in  Pisa.  In  this  document  he 
consults  Quarantesi  about  the  possibility  of  raising 
that  sum,  with  1000  ducats  in  addition.  "  It  was 
in  my  mind,  in  order  that  I  might  not  be  left  naked, 
to  sell  houses  and  possessions,  and  to  let  the  lira 
go  for  ten  soldi."  ^  As  the  contract  was  never  carried 
out,  the  fraudulent  passages  inserted  in  the  deed 
did  not  prove  of  practical  importance.  Della  Porta, 
on  his  part,  wrote  in  high  spirits  to  his  master :  ^ 
"  Yesterday  we  executed  the  new  contract  with 
Michelangelo,  for  the  ratification  of  which  by  youi 

1  According  to  this  contract,  Michelangelo  acknowledged  to  have 
received  8000  ducats  in  various  payments,  and  promised  to  finish  the 
tomb  at  his  own  expense,  disbursing  in  addition  2000  ducats,  in  which 
sum  his  house  at  the  Macello  de'  Corvi  was  included.  Lettere,  pp. 
702,  703. 

^  Lettere,  No.  cdx.  It  is  possible  that  the  words  written  upon  the 
back  of  a  drawing  at  Oxford,  Andrea  dbhi  patientia — A  me  m^d  consola- 
tione  assaij  may  have  been  drawn  forth  from  him  by  the  anxieties  of 
this  year. 

3  Vasari,  xii.  380.     The  despatch  is  dated  April  30. 


DETAILS   OF   THE   CONTRACT.  457 

Lordship  we  have  fixed  a  limit  of  two  months.  It 
is  of  a  nature  to  satisfy  all  Rome,  and  reflects  great 
credit  on  your  Lordship  for  the  trouble  you  have 
taken  in  concluding  it.  Michelangelo,  who  shows  a 
very  proper  respect  for  your  Lordship,  has  promised 
to  make  and  send  you  a  design.  Among  other 
items,  I  have  bound  him  to  furnish  six  statues  by 
his  own  hand,  which  will  be  a  world  in  themselves, 
because  they  are  sure  to  be  incomparable.  The 
rest  he  may  have  finished  by  some  sculptor  at  his 
own  choice,  provided  the  work  is  done  under  his 
direction.  The  Pope  allows  him  to  come  twice  a 
year  to  Rome,  for  periods  of  two  months  each,  in 
order  to  push  the  work  forward.  And  he  is  to 
execute  the  whole  at  his  own  costs."  He  proceeds 
to  say,  that  since  the  tomb  cannot  be  put  up  in 
S.  Peter's,  S.  Pietro  in  Vincoli  has  been  selected 
as  the  most  suitable  church.  It  appears  that  the 
Duke's  ratification  was  sent  upon  the  5th  of  June, 
and  placed  in  the  hands  of  Clement,  so  that  Michel- 
angelo probably  did  not  see  it  for  some  months. 
Delia  Porta,  writing  to  the  Duke  again  upon  the 
1 9th  of  June,  says  that  Clement  promised  to  allow 
Michelangelo  to  come  to  Rome  in  the  winter,  and 
to  reside  there  working  at  the  tomb.  But  we  have 
no  direct  information  concerning  his  doings  after 
the  return  to  Florence  at  the  end  of  April  1532. 

It  will  be  worth  while  to  introduce  Condivi's  ac- 
count of  these  transactions  relating  to  the  tomb 
of  Julius,  since  it  throws  some  light  upon  the  sculp- 


458  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

tor's  private  feelings  and  motives,  as  well  as  upon 
the  falsification  of  the  contract  as  finally  engrossed.^ 
**When  Michelangelo  had  been  called  to  Eome 
by  Pope  Clement,  he  began  to  be  harassed  by  the 
agents  of  the  Duke  of  Urbino  about  the  sepulchre 
of  Julius.  Clement,  who  wished  to  employ  him  in 
Florence,  did  all  he  could  to  set  him  free,  and  gave 
him  for  his  attorney  in  this  matter  Messer  Tommaso 
da  Prato,  who  was  afterwards  datary.  Michelangelo, 
however,  knowing  the  evil  disposition  of  Duke 
Alessandro  towards  him,  and  being  in  great  dread 
on  this  account,  also  because  he  bore  love  and 
reverence  to  the  memory  of  Pope  Julius  and  to  the 
illustrious  house  of  Delia  Rovere,  strained  every 
nerve  to  remain  in  E-ome  and  busy  himself  about 
the  tomb.  What  made  him  more  anxious  was  that 
every  one  accused  him  of  having  received  from  Pope 
Julius  at  least  16,000  crowns,  and  of  having  spent 
them  on  himself  without  fulfilling  his  engagements. 
Being  a  man  sensitive  about  his  reputation,  he 
could  not  bear  the  dishonour  of  such  reports,  and 
wanted  the  whole  matter  to  be  cleared  up  ;  nor, 
although  he  was  now  old,  did  he  shrink  from  the 
very  onerous  task  of  completing  what  he  had  begun 
so  long  ago.  Consequently  they  came  to  strife 
together,  and  his  antagonists  were  unable  to  prove 
payments  to  anything  like  the  amount  which  had 
first  been  noised  abroad ;  indeed,  on  the  contrary, 
more  than  two  thirds  of  the  whole  sum  first  stipu- 

^  Condivi,  pp.  54-57. 


CONDIVI'S   SUMMARY.  459 

lated  by  the  two  Cardinals  was  wanting.  Clement 
then  thinking  he  had  found  an  excellent  opportu- 
nity for  setting  him  at  liberty  and  making  use  of 
his  whole  energies,  called  Michelangelo  to  him,  and 
said  :  *  Come,  now,  confess  that  you  want  to  make 
this  tomb,  but  wish  to  know  who  will  pay  you  the 
balance/  Michelangelo,  knowing  well  that  the 
Pope  was  anxious  to  employ  him  on  his  own  work, 
answered  :  *  Supposing  some  one  is  found  to  pay 
me/  To  which  Pope  Clement :  *  You  are  a  great 
fool  if  you  let  yourself  believe  that  any  one  will 
come  forward  to  offer  you  a  farthing/  Accordingly, 
his  attorney,  Messer  Tommaso,  and  the  agents  of  the 
Duke,  after  some  negotiations,  came  to  an  agree- 
ment that  a  tomb  should  at  least  be  made  for  the 
amount  he  had  received.  Michelangelo,  thinking  the 
matter  had  arrived  at  a  good  conclusion,  consented 
with  alacrity.  He  was  much  influenced  by  the  elder 
Cardinal  di  Monte,  who  owed  his  advancement  to 
Julius  II.,  and  was  uncle  of  Julius  III.,  our  present 
Pope  by  grace  of  God.  The  arrangement  was  as 
follows  :  That  he  should  make  a  tomb  of  one  fagade 
only  ;  should  utilise  those  marbles  which  he  had 
already  blocked  out  for  the  quadrangular  monument, 
adapting  them  as  well  as  circumstances  allowed; 
and  finally,  that  he  should  be  bound  to  furnish  six 
statues  by  his  own  hand.  In  spite  of  this  arrange- 
ment. Pope  Clement  was  allowed  to  employ  Michel- 
angelo in  Florence  or  where  he  liked  during  four 
months    of  the   year,    that   being   required    by  his 


46o  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

Holiness  for  his  undertakings  at  S.  Lorenzo.  Such 
then  was  the  contract  made  between  the  Duke  and 
Michelangelo.  But  here  it  has  to  be  observed,  that 
after  all  accounts  had  been  made  up,  Michelangelo 
secretly  agreed  with  the  agents  of  his  Excellency 
that  it  should  be  reported  that  he  had  received  some 
thousands  of  crowns  above  what  had  been  paid  to 
him  ;  the  object  being  to  make  his  obligation  to 
the  Duke  of  Urbino  seem  more  considerable,  and 
to  discourage  Pope  Clement  from  sending  him  toj 
Florence,  whither  he  was  extremely  unwilling  to  go.': 
This  acknowledgment  was  not  only  bruited  about 
in  words,  but,  without  his  knowledge  or  consent, 
was  also  inserted  into  the  deed ;  not  when  this  was 
drawn  up,  but  when  it  was  engrossed ;  a  falsifica- 
tion which  caused  Michelangelo  the  utmost  vexation. 
The  ambassador,  however,  persuaded  him  that  this 
would  do  him  no  real  harm  :  it  did  not  signify,  he 
said,  whether  the  contract  specified  a  thousand  or 
twenty  thousand  crowns,  seeing  they  were  agreed 
that  the  tomb  should  be  reduced  to  suit  the  sums 
actually  received  ;  adding,  that  nobody  was  con- 
cerned in  the  matter  except  himself,  and  that 
Michelangelo  might  feel  safe  with  him  on  account 
of  the  understanding  between  them.  Upon  this 
Michelangelo  grew  easy  in  his  mind,  partly  because 
he  thought  he  might  have  confidence,  and  partly 
because  he  wished  the  Pope  to  receive  the  impres- 
sion I  have  described  above.  In  this  way  the  thing 
was  settled  for  the  time,  but  it  did  not  end  there  ; 


ALESSANDRO   DE'   MEDICI.  461 

for  when  he  had  worked  his  four  months  in  Florence 
and  came  back  to  Rome,  the  Pope  set  him  to  other 
tasks,  and  ordered  him  to  paint  the  wall  above  the 
altar  in  the  Sistine  Chapel.  He  was  a  man  of  ex- 
cellent judgment  in  such  matters,  and  had  meditated 
many  different  subjects  for  this  fresco.  At  last  he 
fixed  upon  the  Last  Judgment,  considering  that  the 
variety  and  greatness  of  the  theme  would  enable 
the  illustrious  artist  to  exhibit  his  powers  in  their 
full  extent.  Michelangelo,  remembering  the  obliga- 
tion he  was  under  to  the  Duke  of  Urbino,  did  all 
he  could  to  evade  this  new  engagement ;  but  when 
this  proved  impossible,  he  began  to  procrastinate, 
and,  pretending  to  be  fully  occupied  with  the  car- 
toons for  his  huge  picture,  he  worked  in  secret  at 
the  statues  intended  for  the  monument." 


VII. 

Michelangelo's  position  at  Florence  was  insecure 
and  painful,  owing  to  the  undisguised  animosity  of 
the  Duke  Alessandro.  This  man  ruled  like  a  tyrant 
of  the  worst  sort,  scandalising  good  citizens  by  his 
brutal  immoralities,  and  terrorising  them  by  his 
cruelties.  *'  He  remained,"  says  Condivi,  "  in  con- 
tinual alarm ;  because  the  Duke,  a  young  man,  as 
is  known  to  every  one,  of  ferocious  and  revengeful 
temper,  hated  him  exceedingly.     There  is  no  doubt 


462  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

that,  but  for  the  Pope's  protection,  he  would  have 
been  removed  from  this  world.  What  added  to 
Alessandro's  enmity  was  that  when  he  was  planning 
the  fortress  which  he  afterwards  erected,  he  sent 
Messer  Vitelli  for  Michelangelo,  ordering  him  to 
ride  with  them,  and  to  select  a  proper  position  for 
the  building.  Michelangelo  refused,  saying  that  he 
had  received  no  commission  from  the  Pope.  The 
Duke  waxed  very  wroth;  and  so,  through  this  new 
grievance  added  to  old  grudges  and  the  notorious 
nature  of  the  Duke,  Michelangelo  not  unreasonably 
lived  in  fear.  It  was  certainly  by  God's  aid  that 
be  happened  to  be  away  from  Florence  when 
Clement  died."^  Michelangelo  was  bound  under 
solemn  obligations  to  execute  no  work  but  what 
the  Pope  ordered  for  himself  or  permitted  by  the 
contract  with  the  heirs  of  Julius.  Therefore  he 
acted  in  accordance  with  duty  when  he  refused  to 
advise  the  tyrant  in  this  scheme  for  keeping  the 
city  under  permanent  subjection.  The  man  who 
had  fortified  Florence  against  the  troops  of  Clement 
could  not  assist  another  bastard  Medici  to  build  a 
strong  place  for  her  ruin.  It  may  be  to  this  period 
of  his  life  that  we  owe  the  following  madrigal, 
written  upon  the  loss  of  Florentine  liberty  and  the 
bad  conscience  of  the  despot :  ^ — 


1  Condivi,  p.  51.  Compare  Vasari,  xii.  215.  See  Varchi,  Stor.  Fior.y 
iii.  43,  for  the  commencement  of  this  fortress,  the  foundations  of  which 
were  laid  upon  the  27th  of  May  1533. 

2  Rime,  p.  25. 


RECOVERY  OF  A  FORCED  LOAN.     463 

Lady,  for  joy  of  lovers  numberless 

Thou  wast  created  fair  as  angels  are. 

Sure  God  hath  fallen  asleep  in  heaven  afar 

When  one  man  calls  the  bliss  of  many  his  ! 

Give  back  to  streaming  eyes 

The  daylight  of  thy  face,  that  seems  to  shun 

Those  who  must  live  defrauded  of  their  bliss  1 

Vex  not  your  pure  desire  with  tears  and  sighs : 
For  he  who  robs  you  of  my  light  hath  none. 
Dwelling  in  fear,  sin  hath  no  happiness ; 
Since,  amid  those  who  love,  their  joy  is  less. 
Whose  great  desire  great  plenty  still  curtails. 
Than  theirs  who,  poor,  have  hope  that  never  fails. 

During  the  siege  Michelangelo  had  been  forced 
to  lend  the  Signory  a  sum  of  about  1500  ducats.^ 
In  the  summer  of  1533  he  corresponded  with 
Sebastiano  about  means  for  recovering  this  loan. 
On  the  1 6th  of  August  Sebastiano  writes  that  he 
has  referred  the  matter  to  the  Pope.^  "I  repeat, 
what  I  have  already  written,  that  I  presented  your 
memorial  to  his  Holiness.  It  was  about  eight  in 
the  evening,  and  the  Florentine  ambassador  was 
present.  The  Pope  then  ordered  the  ambassador 
to  write  immediately  to  the  Duke ;  and  this  he  did 
with  such  vehemence  and  passion  as  I  do  not  think 
he  has  displayed  on  four  other  occasions  concerning 
the  affairs  of  Florence.  His  rage  and  fury  were 
tremendous,  and  the  words  he  used  to  the  am- 
bassador would  stupefy  you,  could  you  hear  them. 

1  Lettere,  No.  cdvii.    Was  this  perhaps  levied  for  his  contumacy  in 
the  flight  to  Venice  ? 

2  Les  Corres^ondants,  p.  112. 


464  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

Indeed,  they  are  not  fit  to  be  written  down,  and  I 
must  reserve  them  for  viva  voce.  I  burn  to  have 
half  an  hour's  conversation  with  you,  for  now  I 
know  our  good  and  holy  master  to  the  ground. 
Enough,  I  think  you  must  have  already  seen  some- 
thing of  the  sort.  In  brief,  he  has  resolved  that 
you  are  to  be  repaid  the  400  ducats  of  the  guardian- 
ship and  the  500  ducats  lent  to  the  old  Govern- 
ment." ^  It  may  be  readily  imagined  that  this 
restitution  of  a  debt  incurred  by  Florence  when 
she  was  fighting  for  her  liberties,  to  which  act  of 
justice  her  victorious  tyrant  was  compelled  by  his  |' 
Papal  kinsman,  did  not  soften  Alessandro's  bad  feel-  ; 
ing  for  the  creditor. 

Several  of  Sebastiano's  letters  during  the  summer 
and  autumn  of  1533  refer  to  an  edition  of  some 
madrigals  by  Michelangelo,  which  had  been  set  to 
music  byBartolommeo  Tromboncino,  Giacomo  Archa- 
delt,  and  Costanzo  Festa.^  W^  have  every  reason 
to  suppose  that  the  period  we  have  now  reached  was 
the  richest  in  poetical  compositions.  It  was  also 
in  1532  or  1533  that  he  formed  the  most  passionate  j 
attachment  of  which  we  have  any  knowledge  in  his 
life ;  for  he  became  acquainted  about  this  time  with 

1  "  Li  ducati  400  del  pupillo."  Perhaps  this  sum  had  been  lent  to 
the  Ufficiali  dei  Pupilli.  See  Capponi,  vol.  i.  p.  648.  With  regard  to 
the  Pope's  rages,  we  may  remember  what  Cellini  says  of  him  :  "  Veduto 
io  il  papa  diventato  cosi  una  pessima  bestia."    Lib.  i.  cap.  58. 

2  Les  Correspondants,  pp.  108-I12.  Compare  Lettere,  No.  cdxv.,  in 
which  Michelangelo  acknowledges  the  receipt  of  them.  Gotti,  vol.  ii. 
pp.  89-122,  publishes  an  interesting  essay  on  this  music  by  Leto  Puliti, 
together  with  the  score  of  three  madrigals. 


YEARS    1532-1534.  465 

Tommaso  Cavalieri.  A  few  years  later  he  was  des- 
tined to  meet  with  Vittoria  Colonna.  The  details 
of  these  two  celebrated  friendships  will  be  discussed 
in  another  chapter. 

Clement  VII.  journeyed  from  liome  in  September, 
intending  to  take  ship  at  Leghorn  for  Nice  and  after- 
wards Marseilles,  where  his  young  cousin,  Caterina 
de'  Medici,  was  married  to  the  Dauphin.  He  had 
to  pass  through  S.  Miniato  al  Tedesco,  and  thither 
Michelangelo  went  to  wait  upon  him  on  the  22nd.^ 
This  was  the  last,  and  not  the  least  imposing, 
public  act  of  the  old  Pope,  who,  six  years  after  his 
imprisonment  and  outrage  in  the  Castle  of  S.  Angelo, 
was  now  wedding  a  daughter  of  his  plebeian  family 
to  the  heir  of  the  French  crown.  What  passed 
between  Michelangelo  and  his  master  on  this  occa- 
sion is  not  certain. 

The  years  153 2- 1534  form  a  period  of  consider- 
able chronological  perplexity  in  Michelangelo's  life. 
This  is  in  great  measure  due  to  the  fact  that  he  was 
now  residing  regularly  part  of  the  year  in  Rome  and 
part  in  Florence.  We  have  good  reason  to  believe 
that  he  went  to  Eome  in  September  1532,  and  stayed 
there  through  the  winter.^  It  is  probable  that  he 
then  formed  the  friendship  with  Cavalieri,  which 
played  so  important  a  part  in  his  personal  history. 

^  See  Ricordo  in  Lettere,  p.  604. 

2  Angelini's  letter  indorsed  "le  lettere  de  dugento  ducati"  (see 
Appendix),  Norchiato's  about  a  translation  of  Vitruvius  (date  Dec.  7, 
1532,  Arch.  Buon.,  Cod.  x.  582),  Stephano's  about  the  lantern  of  the 
Sacristy  (Arch  Buon.,  Cod.  xi.  713),  lead  to  this  conclusion. 


466  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 


11 


A  brisk  correspondence  carried  on  between  him  and 
his  two  friends,  Bartolommeo  Angelini  and  Sebas- 
tiano  del  Piombo,  shows  that  he  resided  at  Florence 
during  the  summer  and  early  autumn  of  1533.  From 
a  letter  addressed  to  Figiovanni  on  the  15th  of 
October,  we  learn  that  he  was  then  impatient  to 
leave  Florence  for  Rome.  But  a  Ricordo,  bearing 
date  Oct.  29,  1533,  renders  it  almost  certain  that  he 
had  not  then  started.^  Angelinas  letters,  which  had 
been  so  frequent,  stop  suddenly  in  that  month.' 
This  renders  it  almost  certain  that  Michelangelo 
must  have  soon  returned  to  Rome.  Strangely  enough 
there  are  no  letters  or  Ricordi  in  his  handwriting 
which  bear  the  date  1534.  When  we  come  to  deal 
with  this  year,  1534,  we  learn  from  Michelangelo's 
own  statement  to  Vasari  that  he  was  in  Florence 
during  the  summer,  and  that  he  reached  Rome  two 
days  before  the  death  of  Clement  VII.,  i.e.,  upon; 
September  23.^  Condi vi  observes  that  it  was  lucky  \ 
for  him  that  the  Pope  did  not  die  while  he  was  still  ^ 
at  Florence,  else  he  would  certainly  have  been 
exposed  to  great  peril,  and  probably  been  murdered 
or  imprisoned  by  Duke  Alessandro.* 

Nevertheless,  Michelangelo  was  again  in  Florence 
toward  the  close  of  1534.  An  undated  letter  to  a 
certain  Febo  (di  Poggio)  confirms  this  supposition. 

^  Lettere,  pp.  470,  604. 

2  I  shall  print  all  Angelini's  letters  in  the  Appendix.    Angelini's  last 
dated  letter  is  Oct.  18. 

3  Lettere,  No.  cdlxxxii.,  written  in  May  1557. 
*  Condivi,  p.  51. 


I 


LODOVICO'S   DEATH.  467 

It  may  probably  be  referred  to  the  month  of  Decem- 
ber. In  it  he  says  that  he  means  to  leave  Florence 
next  day  for  Pisa  and  Rome,  and  that  he  shall  never 
return.^  Febo's  ansvrer,  addressed  to  Rome,  is  dated 
Jan.  14,  1534,  which,  according  to  Florentine  reckon- 
ing, means  1535.^ 

We  may  take  it,  then,  as  sufficiently  well  ascer- 
tained that  Michelangelo  departed  from  Florence 
before  the  end  of  1534,  and  that  he  never  returned 
during  the  remainder  of  his  life.  There  is  left, 
however,  another  point  of  importance  referring  to 
this  period,  which  cannot  be  satisfactorily  cleared 
up.  We  do  not  know  the  exact  date  of  his  father, 
Lodovico's,  death.  It  must  have  happened  either  in 
1533  or  in  1534.  In  spite  of  careful  researches,  no 
record  of  the  event  has  yet  been  discovered,  either 
at  Settignano  or  in  the  public  offices  of  Florence. 
The  documents  of  the  Buonarroti  family  yield  no  direct 
information  on  the  subject.  We  learn,  however,  from 
the  Libri  delle  Et^,,  preserved  at  the  Archivio  di 
Stato,  that  Lodovico  di  Lionardo  di  Buonarrota 
Simoni  was  born  upon  the  nth  of  June  1444.' 
Now  Michelangelo,  in  his  poem  on  Lodovico's  death, 
says  very  decidedly  that  his  father  was  ninety  when 

*  Lettere,  No.  cdxx.  Milanesi  assigns  it  to  the  year  1533.  But  the 
date  of  Febo's  answer  makes  this  impossible.  Besides,  we  have  seen 
above  that  he  must  have  gone  to  Kome  at  the  end  of  Oct.  1533. 

2  This  letter  I  shall  print  in  the  Appendix.  It  will  be  fully  discussed 
in  chapter  xii. 

2  Libro  3  delle  Et^,  in  the  Arch,  delle  Tratte,  fol.  109,  and  Libro  2, 
p.  92,  tergo.     This  information  I  owe  to  the  Cav.  G.  Biagi. 


468  LIFE   OF   MICHELANGELO. 

tiQ  breathed  his  last.  If  we  take  this  literally,  it 
must  be  inferred  that  he  died  after  the  middle  of 
June  1534.  There  are  many  reasons  for  supposing 
that  Michelangelo  was  in  Florence  when  this  hap- 
pened. The  chief  of  these  is  that  no  correspondence 
passed  between  the  Buonarroti  brothers  on  the  occa- 
sion, while  Michelangelo's  minutes  regarding  the  ex- 
penses of  his  father's  burial  seem  to  indicate  that  he 
was  personally  responsible  for  their  disbursement.^  I 
may  finally  remark  that  the  schedule  of  property 
belonging  to  Michelangelo,  recorded  under  the  year 
1 534  in  the  archives  of  the  Decima  at  Florence,  makes 
no  reference  at  all  to  Lodovico.^  We  conclude  from 
it  that,  at  the  time  of  its  redaction,  Michelangelo 
must  have  succeeded  to  his  father's  estate.^ 

The  death  of  Lodovico  and  Buonarroto,  happening ' 
within  a  space  of  little  more  than  five  years,  pro- 
foundly affected  Michelangelo's  mind,  and  left  an  | 
indelible  mark  of  sadness  on  his  life.  One  of  his 
best  poems,  a  capitolo,  or  piece  of  verse  in  terza  rima 
stanzas,  was  written  on  the  occasion  of  his  father's 
decease.*     In  it  he  says  that  Ludovico  had  reached 


i 


1  SeeGotti,  ii.  p.  81. 

2  It  is  published  by  Gaye,  ii.  253.  No  other  extant  documents  throw 
much  light  on  the  matter. 

3  It  only  remains  to  add  that,  considering  Michelangelo  left  Florence 
for  good  at  the  end  of  1534,  and  that  Lodovico  must  have  died  before 
that  date,  two  letters  written  to  Giovan  Simone  (which  Milanesi  assigns 
to  1 532,  1 533)  were  probably  sent  at  the  end  of  1 534.  They  are  Lettere, 
Nos.  cxviii.,  cxix.  Both  refer  to  Mona  Margherita,  an  old  servant,  who 
had  been  left  to  Buonarroti's  care  by  his  father  on  his  deathbed. 

*  Rime,  pp.  297-301. 


I 


POEM   ON   LODOVICO'S   DEATH.  469 

the  age  of  ninety.  If  this  statement  be  literally 
accurate,  the  old  man  must  have  died  in  1534,  since 
he  was  born  upon  the  nth  of  June  1444.  But  up 
to  the  present  time,  as  I  have  observed  above,  the 
exact  date  of  his  death  has  not  been  discovered. 
One  passage  of  singular  and  solemn  beauty  may  be 
translated  from  the  original : — 

Thou'rt  dead  of  dying,  and  art  made  divine, 
Nor  fearest  now  to  change  or  life  or  will ; 
Scarce  without  envy  can  I  call  this  thine. 

Fortune  and  time  beyond  your  temple -sill 

Dare  not  advance,  by  whom  is  dealt  for  us 
A  doubtful  gladness,  and  too  certain  ill. 

Cloud  is  there  none  to  dim  you  glorious : 

The  hours  distinct  compel  you  not  to  fade  : 
Nor  chance  nor  fate  o'er  you  are  tyrannous. 

Your  splendour  with  the  night  sinks  not  in  shade, 
Nor  grows  with  day,  howe'er  that  sun  ride  high. 
Which  on  our  mortal  hearts  life's  heat  hath  rayed. 

Thus  from  thy  dying  I  now  learn  to  die, 

Dear  father  mine  !     In  thought  I  see  thy  place, 
Where  earth  but  rarely  lets  men  climb  the  sky. 

Not,  as  some  deem,  is  death  the  worst  disgrace 

For  one  whose  last  day  brings  him  to  the  first, 
The  next  eternal  throne  to  God's  by  grace. 

There  by  God's  grace  I  trust  that  thou  art  nursed, 
And  hope  to  find  thee,  if  but  my  cold  heart 
High  reason  draw  fi'om  earthly  slime  accursed. 


END   OF   VOL.    i. 


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Carel  Fabritius,  Johannes  Vermeer.     25s.  net. 
Vol.  II.   The  Works  of  Aelbert  Cuyp  and  Philips  Wouwerman. 

25s.  net. 
Vol.  III.    Frans  Hals,  Adriaen  van  Ostade,  Isack  van  Ostade,  and 
Adriaen  Brouwer.     25s.  net. 

A    POPULAR     HANDBOOK     TO     THE    NATIONAL 

GALLERY.  Including  Notes  collected  from  the  Works  of  Mr. 
Ruskin.'  By  Edward  T.  Cook.  Revised  and  rearranged  through- 
out.    In  Two  vols.     Crown  8vo.     Thin  paper.     Leather  binding. 

Vol.  I.  Foreign  Schools.     Seventh  Edition.     los.  net. 

Vol.  II.  British  Schools  (including  the  Tate  Gallery).  Sixth 
Edition.     los.  net. 

MACMILLAN  AND  CO.,  Ltd.,   LONDON. 


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